


A symphony in a year

by cubpen



Series: Polyphony [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Classical Music, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Musicians, POV Alternating, POV Oikawa Tooru, POV Yachi Hitoka, Piano, Pining, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 84,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubpen/pseuds/cubpen
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is a success story waiting to happen. Everyone knows he's the best pianist in the most elite studio at the conservatory; they say he plays with "unrivaled expression" and "flawless technique."He realizes these are empty words when he hears a Mozart performance made of puremagic. He's captivated, enchanted,in love. But the player, a fellow pianist, disappears before Oikawa can even catch a glimpse of them.Oikawa would do anything to find his Cinderella, to hear their music every day for the rest of his life. There was just one problem: an annoying, self-righteous music ed student keeps getting in the way. His name? Iwaizumi Hajime.





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of Nodame Cantabile and real life mushed together. 
> 
> There are now linked footnotes for music performed and mentioned in each chapter! Mostly Youtube links if you feel like listening while reading.
> 
> There's a full [playlist too.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLL8NLDWYhykorWn5cja3QLQfGgGDThMx0) Minor spoiler warning: it has music and events that happen in future chapters (nothing too detailed, though), and it will probably change _a lot_. 
> 
> Please enjoy^^

Oikawa stomps into the deserted recital hall. He throws his bag somewhere ( _who the hell cares where_ ), drops to the floor, and sprawls out on his back. There's no way he can practice now. Just looking at a piano makes him think of stupid Tobio-chan and his ridiculously big hands and those professors—

"'Cleanest Liszt I've ever heard' my ass," he mutters. "'Cause 'our rising star Kageyama Tobio' is a goddamn robot. No one here has any _taste_ any more."

He makes a pillow from his jacket and falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa didn't think it was possible to wake up more pissed off than when he fell asleep, but he was _seething_ now. Practicing in the hall was _his right_ , his and his alone. But someone _dares_ to—

_... It's fast!_

A familiar Mozart melody flits through the hall like a hummingbird. Softly, quietly, but with incredible speed and technique.

Oikawa sees the score in his mind, every measure, every note. The last time he played it... must've been junior high. It's the first variation, where a flurry of rising and falling scale runs decorate the simple melody of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."[1]

But these aren't just scales. They're more than just black clusters of sixteenth notes against bright white paper. The notes in his mind melt away, and suddenly he's seven years old and sitting on the porch behind his teacher's house.

_"Ready or not, here I come!" a girl calls out. It's a taunt; she's confident._

_Tooru watches her scurry among the hedges. She's fast—her footsteps are quick and light; they make little muffled taps against grass cut low for the summer._

A long string of sixteenth notes.

Every accent, a playful little blip in the scale, is

_her triumphant cheer when she finds one of her friends. Then she's on the chase again,_

scale tumbling,

_feet dancing across the lawn._

_Tooru sighs and presses the toe of his shoe on the floor mat. The stiff brown leather bends and makes a huge crease across the shoe. He frowns at it, creases his other shoe, and heads back inside._

There's a low rumble in the left hand part and little fluttery trills above. Oikawa's eyes go wide—it's already the twelfth and final variation; nearly ten minutes had passed.

_Who is this_? He has to know, has to sit up and look, but he's completely entranced. He lets the music rush over him like a tide and feels the final chord resonate around him like one feels sunlight.

There's the stuttering sound of rubber dragged over wood, the  _click_ of the backstage door. 

Then, silence.

 

 

 

Silence for Oikawa, without the voices chattering "Tobio-chan" or "practice practice practice" in his mind. Silence and  _calm_ , for the first time today. This week, maybe.

He doesn't get up until the lights go out.

 

* * *

 

"No, it can't be Tobio-chan." Oikawa slaps his book shut on the _-chan_. "Her music _sparkles_ , Makki, don't you get it? Ugh, of course not, cellists don't give a shit about Mozart."

"I resent that," Hanamaki says. " _I_ get to decide what I think is boring as fuck to play."

"Oh, such brillance and color, even in the lightest touch." Oikawa says this like he's delivering a line from Shakespeare. "She shines like a star—"

He snaps back to the way he normally talks, which to Hanamaki sounds an awful lot like constant complaining.

"—even on that clunker of a piano. Honestly, what're they thinking, using that for chamber music—"

Hanamaki decides humoring Oikawa about this mystery person is better than listening to him whine about crap like acoustics and piano lid preferences. "Eh? A girl, huh. I thought you didn't see them at all."

"Of course she's a girl," Oikawa scoffs. "That _sound_. I'm sure she's lovely. Delicate. Probably my soulmate." He pauses, shakes his head. "If, and that's a big if, she exists. Let's be real, I'm the only one in the entire department who can play like that! Maybe it was a premonition? God telling me I'll play a perfect Mozart at my next recital."

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. "What about the faculty? Haiba-sensei, maybe. I mean, those fingers. Damn."

Oikawa rolls _his_ eyes. (He has to show Hanamaki how to do it right.)  "She's _Russian_."

"That's a stereotype."

"Her Mozart sounds like a herd of elephants."

"Rude and inaccurate," Hanamaki says. He blinks at the look on Oikawa's face and reluctantly adds, "Fine. But not elephants. That's just mean. A runaway herd of cattle...?"

"Elephants are rare and beautiful. What are _you_ saying about Alisa-chan?"

"Ugh. I, oh, screw it. But you gotta admit, her Rach 3 is fucking awesome."[2]

Oikawa waves his hand, dismissing his friend. "See, Russian. And irrelevant. My lovely soulmate's music was little bubbles popping in a soft breeze. Iridescent. Magical."

"Ugh, go swoon somewhere else," Hanamaki groans.

"Why yes, I  _will_ go somewhere else because I  _need_ to find her."

"How're you gonna find your Cinderella? Ask any female pianist here and they're gonna say they're your soulmate." Hanamaki smirks. "Make all of them play Mozart? Hah!"

Oikawa's eyes light up.

"Wait. Noooo, no, no, no. Oikawa. _No_."

"Don't worry, Makki. When all the professors thank me for discovering our glorious diamond in the rough, I'll be sure to give you some of the credit."

"... Please don't."

 

* * *

 

"Oikawa is doing _what_." Ukai growls.

Yachi squeaks and thanks the gods for putting her in Takeda's studio. ... Though she knows she had nothing to worry about. Only the best students end up with Ukai, the former world-renowned concert pianist who came out of retirement to teach here.

"A-a-auditions," she manages. Before she can explain, a woman stomps towards them flapping a stack of paper up in the air. 

"Can _anyone_  tell me why my sopranos are practicing for _the wrong opera_?" she squawks.

Her dark eyeliner and thick mascara accentuate the fact that she's really, really pissed off. "I'm looking for a Mimi.[3] I'm _getting_ a bunch of Rosinas and Susannas [4]." She easily rips the stack of sheet music in half.

Yachi adjusts her arm and hopes no one got a glimpse of what's in her tote bag. She makes a mental note to start using a backpack instead.

"My student's fault," Ukai says simply. "I'm sorry his stupidity rubbed off on your gals. Won't happen again, Tanaka." He cracks his knuckles, gives her a curt nod, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

"I really thought it was a real audition!" Yachi explains to her roommate Shimizu. "Oikawa-san's like a professor in the department, really. And I heard Misaki-senpai talk about _Figaro_..."

"Hitoka-chan," Shimizu says. "Do you mean Oikawa Tooru?"

Yachi gasps. "Do you know him?!"

"Sort of. We went out once."

"You dated Oikawa-senpai?!"

Yachi tries to imagine the two of them together and comes up with something that looks like an ad from a teen magazine. Two impossibly beautiful people in a relationship...

" _One_ date two years ago," Shimizu clarifies. "He was a perfect gentleman, mostly. But his personality is... When we got coffee, he gave the barista his number to get a discount. Your story's not very surprising."

Yachi nods. "Still, I'm sure he has a good reason for tricking everyone."

"Hmm, is he trying to join your education department? Critiquing students must be an important part of teaching."

"Oh, no, no. The performance students don't even think of the ed students as musicians." Yachi's pretty sure Oikawa once tried to ban anyone not in performance from using the practice rooms. "It's a dumb music school thing."

Shimizu gives her an apologetic smile. "I still don't know very much about music. Come to think of it, he did play piano during our date, but I don't remember anything about what he played or how he played it."

"He's amazing! ..."

Shimizu quirks an eyebrow. "Is there a 'but'?"

"Um, well, during the audition? The fake-audition, hahah... His sounds fit perfectly with mine. It's such a good feeling when that happens, like you're sharing brainwaves! But with him... It felt like he wasn't there." Yachi blushes and adds, "Silly thing to say, right?"

Shimizu shakes her head. "No, it's not. It just makes you wonder where he goes."

 

* * *

 

"Gaaahh!"

Iwaizumi stumbles backwards, away from the two girls blocking the doorway of his practice room. He regains his balance... and loses it right away when one of the girls thrusts a box into his chest.

He stares at her and her friend. _Second years. Clarinet and flute?_

"Iwaizumi-senpai, could you give this to Oikawa-san?" they say in unison.

If they'd said anything else, Iwaizumi would've been happy about two cute girls knowing his name. Now he just wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"Uh. I don't know Oikawa, sorry."

They pout at him. "But he's in your studio now!"

"No way. I'm with Takeda. There must be some sort of mistake. Maybe—"

"We _know_ who you're studying with," the flute player says impatiently. "We thought it was a joke too, but I guess Ukai-sensei went _deaf_ and kicked Oikawa-san out of his studio. All the way to the bottom," she says bitterly. "... No offense."

"It's so cruel!" the other girl whines. "After Oikawa-san helped the opera department out and everything."

Iwaizumi snorts. That's definitely not what he heard. He's about to say so when he notices the death glares from the two girls.

"Getting over a cold," he says.

"Anyway." One of them pulls out her phone. "It looks like you guys have studio class tomorrow, so please do it then. But remember that he needs to leave 20 minutes early to play for Tanaka-san's lessons."

"Wow. That's detailed." Iwaizumi says without thinking. He immediately regrets showing even a trace of curiosity.

The girl shrugs. "It's all in his calendar, see? He sent out the share link weeks ago, didn't you get it? Here, let me email—"

"Oh look class is about to start." Iwaizumi looks at his wrist. He's not wearing a watch, but he doubts the girls will notice or care. "Uh, right. It's Sakamoto-san and Takahashi-san, right? I'll make sure he knows it's from you."

"Don't forget! And let us know if he wants more, 'kay? Thanks, senpai!" The two girls leave, waving and beaming at him.

Iwaizumi decides then and there that Oikawa Tooru is the most annoying person he's never met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Twelve Variations on "Ah vous dirai-je, Maman", K. 265/300e](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BTvoqVK420) (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) [First variation](https://youtu.be/7BTvoqVK420?t=42), [twelfth variation](https://youtu.be/7BTvoqVK420?t=442). [return to text]
> 
> 2 * [Piano Concerto No. 3 in d minor, Op. 30](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weTtT4tb9bE) (Sergei Rachmaninoff) [return to text]
> 
> 3 * [La Boheme](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_boh%C3%A8me) (Giacomo Puccini)  
> Mimi is a character who suffers from tuberculosis and meets a tragic end. (The musical _Rent_ is based on this opera but ends much more happily.)  [return to text]
> 
> 4 * [The Marriage of Figaro, K. 492, reduction for piano duet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud-IqaYpy2s) (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart)  
> This opera is a comedy where Rosina (a Countess) and Susanna (her maid) try to stop Rosina's husband (the Count) from being a creepy, entitled asshole. [return to text]
> 
> * Mentioned only


	2. Tritone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tritone: A dissonant musical interval made of 3 adjacent whole steps.
> 
> A tritone sounds unstable and unfinished to the ear, creating tension in music; by instinct, a listener will expect the tritone to resolve to a consonant sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Oikawa Tooru has a Very Bad Day
> 
> All right, friends. I'm just gonna plow through as many chapters as I can and see what happens. Wish me luck.

Studio class: a musicians' show-and-tell; mandatory for anyone taking private instrumental or vocal lessons. All of the students who study with the same teacher—in other words, the members of that teacher's studio—gather for an hour every week. They take turns performing and critiquing each other... and that's all it is. 

Yet, it means something different for everybody. 

Kobayashi Mina is a first-year student in the piano division (performance concentration). Studio class is how she's going to prove that she's the  _best_ first-year pianist... as soon as she figures out what she wants to play. "It's a  _process_ ," she tells her friends.

Yachi Hitoka is a second-year student in the piano division (performance concentration). Studio class is a time to support her friends and learn from how they play... unless it's _her_ turn to perform. In that case, studio class is the subject of her nightmares for an entire week.  

Sunakawa Haruki is a third-year student in the education division (piano concentration). Studio class is the hour of sleep he gets before co-conducting a string orchestra full of teenaged brats at a local junior high school. 

Oikawa Tooru is a fourth-year student in the piano division (performance concentration). When he was _Ukai's_ student, studio class was a golden opportunity to gauge his competition, refine his stage presence, and nitpick the shit out of Kageyama Tobio's playing. Now that he's stuck in Takeda's studio, he's pretty sure studio class is just a complete waste of time. 

After all, it's common knowledge: Takeda Ittetsu's students are crap players, year-repeaters, and class-skippers. As far as Oikawa can tell, at least half of them are working on pieces he learned in high school, or worse yet, junior high. No competition to gauge here—everyone's just different shades of terrible.

There are a few music ed students, Oikawa thinks, who might be talented. But their priorities lie with pedagogy courses and gaining teaching experience, not practicing and performing. To him, it doesn't matter if they're in the ed division or lazy or suck at piano. _It's a studio full of people who can't commit to putting in the time and effort. They're not performers. I'm sure they'll be good teachers. But you can hardly call them musicians._

Still, to get back into Ukai's good graces, he decides that making an appearance and putting on a smile in Takeda's studio class is the best course of action. For now, anyway, until he can go back to his _real_ studio.

He takes quick strides towards the recital hall for Takeda's class, focused on a single thought:

_Let's just get this over with._

 

* * *

 

Inside the recital hall.

"Yacchaaaan, we've only been here a month, why's school so haaaard?" Kobayashi Mina scoots down the aisle towards Yachi. The seats are movie-theater-styled; she shoves her backpack into one, and it weighs the seat down like a person. The backpack looks more like a stack of books with fabric stretched over it than a bag.

"Even for you senpais," she continues. "Look at Suna-kun."

Sunakawa, in the next row, is slouched low in his seat. He looks like he's about to slide down into the aisle and melt in a hoodie-shaped puddle.

"... Mina..." he groans. "Shhh... 'm tired." Sleeping and speaking were obviously at war, here.

"Oh, morning, Mina-chan!" Yachi says quietly. "Hmm, first year is especially hard. I remember sleeping under the piano in a practice room and not waking up even when someone started to play!"

Sunakawa sighs and pulls his hood over his head. 

"Waiwaiwait _wait_ Yacchan!" Mina shrieks. She nearly climbs _on top of_ Yachi to gawk at something in the back of the hall. "Who IS that _pleeeease_ tell me Sensei is sick today and he's the substitute."

Mina's "substitute" is hard to see, at first, in the dimly lit hall. But when Yachi takes a second look, it's enough to see Oikawa Tooru sauntering in.

Black dress shirt, rolled-up sleeves, suspenders. Cuffed pants and black leather ankle boots. Yachi gently pushes Mina's jaw up to close her mouth. Not that she isn't staring, herself, but something feels a little strange... Maybe it was how he's holding himself, or the way he's looking at the other students: cold, hollow, total absence of light. If he'd been like this during the fake-audition, Yachi is sure she would've run out the door as fast as she could.

"Oikawa Tooru, fourth-year performance," he says with a wink. "Please take care of me this year~"

Amidst a mix of squeals and groans, Iwaizumi gets up and stalks stiffly towards Oikawa. Yachi takes one look at her friend and almost laughs out loud—she's learned to recognize the Many Frowns of Iwaizumi Hajime over the past year, and this one is usually reserved for stepping in dog poop.

The hall goes silent when Iwaizumi hands Oikawa a box. "From Takahashi-san and—"

"Ooo, one of my _fans_ ," Oikawa croons. Mischief is written all over his face. "You'd be cuter if you smiled, you know. What's your name? Did you bake these yourself?"

Yachi starts getting nervous. She knows Iwaizumi tends to... express his anger a lot. It's always harmless, smacking someone on the head with a score or poking someone with a drumstick. But what if he does it now? Will all the girls kill him? What if Oikawa takes him seriously, they start a fist fight, and they ruin their hands—

To his credit, Iwaizumi ignores Oikawa's questions. "Takahashi-san and Sakamoto-san. Second-year woodwinds. _Take_ it already."

"Aww. Then do you want one?" Oikawa opens the box, revealing various types of cookies. "For all your trouble."

Iwaizumi's already walking away. "Nut allergy," he says.

"Next time then. Maybe I'll make something for you?" He blows a kiss at Iwaizumi's back.

Iwaizumi turns to face Oikawa one last time. "You know," he says with a bored look, "I really don't like guys who make girls go 'kyah!'"

Oikawa's pouting. He can't help it.  _Tch. No blushing, no angry outburst? And I thought I found a hot tsundere to play with—_

"Sugawara-kun! Whenever you're ready," a voice calls.

Oikawa didn't realize class was starting. He looks for the speaker: Takeda Ittetsu, the newest member of the piano division faculty. He's short, with almost-curly black hair and dark, half-rim glasses. He looks young— _is_ young, Oikawa thinks, maybe even under 30? It's an oft-discussed mystery among the piano students: if Takeda became a professor at such a young age, shouldn't he be an amazing player? But he's known only as a soft-spoken pushover, easily persuaded, too lenient.

There's a pianist on stage giving Takeda a thumbs up. He's pale, with messy silver hair and a smile like he's about to pat your head and say "you did a great job".

_Total opposite from that other guy. Psh. Not like that other guy's even worth thinking about._

Sugawara gives his audience a sunny grin, takes a deep breath, and[1]

He stands, stretches forward, 

_Ping!_

_Ping!_

_Ping!_  

Sugawara reaches inside the piano and plucks three strings, then three more. (Three rising chimes of a soft bell, then three lower chimes in answer.)

A few chords to finish—he's using both hands—and the short introduction ends.

Oikawa narrows his eyes. _What the hell is he playing?_

Now Sugawara plays a repeating pattern—arpeggios up and down, over and over. He plays each note by bouncing his finger off the key. He's precise, Oikawa admits—a less attentive or less skilled pianist would drag down the tempo or play too loudly. Sugawara is on point. 

Then, the main melody takes over. It's simple, straightforward, and...

_Ah, this kind of music._

It's the American West like you see in movies. No buildings, no trees—just dry, dusty ground and patches of yellowed grass from here to the horizon. It's nighttime now, and an old cowboy plays on his fiddle to entertain his friends around the campfire. The dark, starry sky is vast, inviting the chords to ring freely in its domain.

Little extra notes here and there in the piano's melody feel like twangs on a banjo or a violin's sliding notes in a bluegrass tune.

It's not a genre Oikawa knows at all.  _But this... isn't unpleasant._

When it's upbeat, it sounds like a festive country dance. But when the tempo drops, it's a wistful and lonely sigh into the night.

 _... Until... What?_ _Wrong. Weird. He's playing too fast._ The mood changes without warning and the notes run amok. Oikawa can't place it, can't imagine what the composer was trying to achieve. It's like switching the old cowboy's hat with a black beret and putting him in a poetry slam. Yet somehow, impossibly, the music is still cohesive. Something in the progression still make sense... barely—

—oh, all of that disappears in a puff of air from a chord. That main melody is back. Slower, mournful, the campfire's going out—no, wait, Sugawara's adding more, too many notes now and it's getting louder. A jumbled pile of notes that grow and grow—

Pause.

You  _know_ the next note will be the last, but there's only silence and anticipation. 

 _For a little bit too long,_ Oikawa thinks. _He's being corny, trying to be dramatic like that... but it sort of works._

Sugawara rolls a huge D major chord across the keyboard that sings into the rafters. It's full of substance and resonance that fills the silence and wipes away the mess that came before. That tangled mass of notes fall perfectly into just three notes: D, F#, A. 

(They ring on and on and)

—it takes Oikawa a moment before he can pull himself away from the harmonious sounds above. Back on stage, Sugawara's hands still hover over the keyboard. He sloooowly exhales, letting his posture bend into a slouch and the tension in his muscles escape. 

" _HAH!_ " 

Sugawara throws his head back with a victorious yell. It makes Oikawa actually jump in his seat. The outburst mingles with what remains of that chord in the air.

"Hoo, okay, you guys," Sugawara says, facing his classmates now. He's laughing. "I'm SO TIRED."

Everyone's clapping and laughing with him and cheering "Suga-senpaaaai!"

Oikawa rolls his eyes.  _How refreshing._

"Very good!" Takeda exclaims. "That's really coming together! I think only Ukai-kun would have useful critique for you now, but he's not back until next week."

 _Huh?_ Oikawa flinches. _This guy takes lessons from Ukai? No way._ He feels himself clench his jaw hard and... _wait. No. He means the grandson._ Ukai Keishin, one of the theory professors.

"Ahh, thanks, Sensei," says Sugawara. "I can play for him some other time, no one wants to hear the same thing two weeks in a row, right?"

There are a few "awwww"s and "he's so nice!"s from the crowd. He gets another round of applause when he leaves the stage.

 

"What a big waste of time to play something outside of standard rep," Oikawa says to himself. 

"What did you just say?" Someone hisses. It's Iwaizumi.

"I  _said—"_

"Oikawa-kun!"

Oikawa jumps again. It's unnerving; he doesn't startle easily, yet it keeps happening today.

Takeda scratches his head. He smiles at Oikawa, looking a little embarrassed. "Ah, I know this is your first day with us, so I might be asking for a lot here. But Ukai-san tells me you have some pieces for the competition ready? I would be very glad to hear you play for us today."

_Psh. "Asking for a lot."_

"I do, and I would love to play!" Oikawa says out loud. He thinks about winking, decides it's overkill, and finds a smile to wear as he heads onstage.

 

* * *

 

Yachi's watching Oikawa, and she breathes a little easier. He's looking much better now—maybe it was just the poor lighting?

He begins.[2]

Oikawa's movements are elegant, Yachi observes. It's part of his appeal; people don't call him the "Dark Prince" for nothing. But he's  _pressing_ into the keyboard, straining his arms and shoulders to push against the keys rather than letting gravity naturally weigh his fingers down. He's working against the forces meant to help him.

"I know what this is!" Mina whispers excitedly. "He's playing this for a competition? That's amazing!"

Yachi doesn't respond. Liszt's  _Transcendental Etude No. 4,_ an intense, flashy piece for solo piano. It suits him, she thinks. But the first round of the huge competition is coming up soon, and it requires a concerto. The Liszt has nothing to do with it. 

_Is it for an audition? This early in the year?_

He twitches, almost withdraws a hand for a second.

 _A mistake?_ Yachi's never played the piece, and the chords are too dense for her to track by ear. But he's flinching and straining more and more. She grabs her tablet in a hurry and looks for the score. 

People say (and Yachi agrees) that Oikawa Tooru thrives on showing off. But it's for good reason. His performances are always beautiful and flawless, so she doesn't understand why he's playing something that's making him so uncomfortable. There are tons of show pieces out there that would impress the pants off of anyone in this room.

But here he is, trapped in this etude. The sounds are starting to warp. She's following along with the score—he's playing every note correctly and at the right time, but a small wave of nausea rises within her. It's not making her anxious, really, but... upset. For his sake. She wants him to stop. 

Of course, he doesn't. But he's made it out of that section, at least, and most of that ill feeling is gone. Now, the piece changes:

_"Il canto espressivo ed appassionato assai"_

To be played as if singing with great expression and passion, the score says.

She hears him in the music, indeed trying to express or say something, but there's no sign of singing or passion. It's more like—

"... calling out. Calling out because he's drowning," Yachi whispers.

The end comes abruptly. The final chords sound like someone pounding their fist on a door. Trying to get inside? No, trying to escape. It's loud urgent _frantic_ and the wood's cracking and it

  
_breaks._

 

 

 

The final note is dry and tinny; there's a sort of low buzz to it.

Yachi has both hands over her mouth. She forgets to clap until Mina pokes her arm. 

"He's amazing!" she squeals. Yachi gives her a wan smile. She agrees with Mina completely, has even said so herself, but an awful feeling has taken root in her heart.

 

_He's suffering._

_Not a prince, but a prisoner._

 

* * *

 

Oikawa turns towards everyone with a small smile. He wants to speak. To say _anything_ to prove that he can breathe. Even something normal like "what did you think" is getting stuck in his throat. Why? He feels like a different person. The real him _lives_ for this moment. He makes elaborate, flourishing bows after performances, claps conductors heartily on the back, even pretends to woo a concertmistress or three to get a good laugh.

The audience wants charisma, and he is always at their service. 

_Who am I now?_

"Bravo!" Takeda claps louder than anyone else. "Any comments from the peanut gallery? Third years, I know you've been analyzing this in your classes, so why don't—yes? Iwaizumi-kun?"

 _It's THAT guy._

Oikawa's ego forces him to look at Iwaizumi while the rest of him threatens to topple off the piano bench.

"Yeah," Iwaizumi says. "Man, the rumors are really true. You're um, really, really good. Damn. I don't really like you, at all, but seriously, you're really good."

A few people giggle.

"Oi!" It's Sugawara. "What's with that vocabulary? Good thing you're only teaching second grade!" Everyone bursts out laughing. Iwaizumi's massaging the bridge of his nose, but he's chuckling too.

Oikawa can't. He focuses on Takeda instead. _They're dragging this out. Is it over? Can I leave?_

"Rip current," Iwaizumi says.

_Huh?_

"Just remembered. That's what they're called. You're the guy who ignores all the signs and ends up swimming against a rip current."

"Wh—"

Oikawa has a giant coughing fit. It's one of those uncontrollable ones that give you a stomach cramp. After far too many coughs, he croaks, " _Excuse_ me?"

"Especially the part that goes—" Iwaizumi makes a wave motion with his hand and wiggles his fingers. "You know. _Doo-ru-ru-ru-ru-ru_. After the frilly part."

Oikawa is completely speechless.  _Is he insane?_

"Iwaizumi-kun," Takeda says.

"Yeah?"

"We should discuss your music analysis skills this week. Even if you don't read the music, it's important to be able to help your peers."

Oikawa wants to scoff at "help". As if Iwaizumi—or anyone in here—can even fumble through one or two pages of this. He feels a little better, clinging onto this thought.

"Okay. I know... okay." Iwaizumi says, face glowing red. He sits down.

"Any other comments!" Takeda calls out.

No one volunteers. _Thank God,_ Oikawa thinks. _I'm getting out of here—_

"Then, if I may, Oikawa-kun?" Takeda asks, catching Oikawa before he leaves.

Oikawa nods. He doesn't mind sticking around for one more comment if it's Takeda. He seems to have a... fluffy... personality. Better to end on a comment from him than whatever that was from Iwaizumi.

"It was an excellent display of your skills," Takeda says with conviction. "Very helpful for me, actually, so I can prepare for our first lesson together."

_Nope. Going back to Ukai._

"Our school is very fortunate to have _two_ students who can perform Liszt at this level, and for your styles to mingle—"

No, no. The words disgust him. He doesn't want to be in the same sentence as Kageyama Tobio. Everything  _burns_. His face, the back of his neck, his entire body. 

"—and perhaps, it was unfair to expect your concerto so early in the school year. But I would like you to play the Beethoven opening in class next week. Do you think that's enough time? We can discuss this at our lesson, too."

Oikawa stares at Takeda. He digs his fingernails into his arm and wishes they weren't trimmed so short. _This... These people... He thinks—_

He feels nauseous.

"Oikawa-kun?"

"Yes. Of course."

Finally _—_ blissfully _—_ he makes it back to his seat _. Five more minutes. Five more minutes then it's time for opera and Saeko-chan will probably have some whiskey left in her desk. God. Get me out of here._

Takeda claps his hands together. "But we can still end our class with Beethoven! Iwaizumi-kun, oh, good, you're ready—"

"Hey so," Iwaizumi's seated at the piano. He looks at Oikawa. "The wavy thing? I meant this."

He plays 9 measures of the Liszt.

Oikawa knows exactly where that section lives in the piece; it's where his fingers usually slow down from trying to reach that huge interval. Tobio-chan, though, Oikawa knows, doesn't struggle here. He's always exact. Accurate. Can freakishly split up a beat into 64 parts.

Iwaizumi's not like that at all. He's doing something different, stretching the timing and molding the shape of those notes. Not at all exact, but it _dances._ He misses three or four notes, but otherwise it's  _22 seconds of perfection._

(Possibly the worst 22 seconds of Oikawa's life.)

"Right?" Iwaizumi says. "So in that low d-d-d-da part—"

"How long?" Oikawa says softly. He tries to stand, but his knees almost buckle.

"Huh?"

"How long have you been playing it?"

"Just now? Here, I'll keep track this time."

He plays it _again_. It's different this time, a little rushed, but otherwise—

"20 seconds? I think?"

Oikawa wants to scream. "No, I meant, how long," he says. He's smiling, because that's what people do moments before they completely lose their shit. "How long have you been playing number four? This. Piece. Months? Years? Who are you? Who the _hell_ are you?"

"Oik—" Takeda begins.

It's Iwaizumi who interrupts him.

"The whole thing?" He scratches his head and frowns. "I wasn't paying attention the whole time... I'd need to hear it again. So yeah, if you play it again. But I need to get through my Beethoven thing first."

"You..." Oikawa stands and kicks his own bag out of the way. Stacks of music spill out, but he doesn't care. The stage door—

"Oikawa-san!"

There's a short, blonde girl running towards him. He doesn't know why he stops for her.

"I know you," he says.

"Ya-Yachi. Hitoka. Second year performance. I did _Figaro_ with you?"

"Right. Ya-Hitoka-chan." He gives her some sort of half-smile, half-eye-twitch and speeds down the aisle to get on stage.

 _"Oikawa-san!"_  Yachi grabs Oikawa by the wrist and pulls him down, closer to her height. "I need to talk to you. It's about Iwaizumi-san."

This gets Oikawa's attention.

"Sensei, um..." Yachi trails off. "I think..." 

Takeda smiles and nods.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa pulls his arm out of Yachi's grasp as soon as they're out in the lobby.

"Okay, who the _fuck_ is he—"

Yachi winces and shies away from him. 

He takes a big breath. "Hitoka-chan," he says slowly. "You need to tell me about Iwaizumi, and why he's rubbing everything in my face. Why I've never heard of him. Does he think he's too good for the rest of us? Why wasn't he in the concerto competition last year? Why is he _here_ with the rest of you?"

"No! Wait! It'snotlikethathe's, no, I _promise_ —"

Her lip is trembling. Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut.

"God. Hi—Yachi-san. I'm sorry," Oikawa hangs his head. Inside his mind, he's kicking himself for almost making a girl cry. "Can I start over? It's—There's something I'm dealing with. Not very well, heh... Are you free? Coffee downstairs? Please. I need to know." 

_Who else is taking everything in my life away from me?_

"Ohthankgoodnessyou'renotmad." The words tumble out of Yachi's mouth. It's cute, and Oikawa feels much calmer.

_This one is refreshing too._

He smiles for real, probably for the first time today.

 

* * *

 

That evening.

They used to come to this bar all the time. Regulars, Oikawa and Akaashi. But it's been a couple years now; no one recognizes them. It's probably better that way.

"For the record," Oikawa says, swirling the remains of his whiskey in its glass. He's not drunk enough to want another one. "I never told anyone in the _opera_ department to start practicing _Figaro_."

Akaashi tries not to smile but does anyway. "That... was pretty funny. You should've seen Saeko-san. She—"

"And that, person, Iwa, ugh! The fucking education division. All of them. They take up all the rooms and fill up the private lesson slots. Why do they even need private lessons? Don't they just learn a little bit of everything anyway? They don't _need_ to be good. They _shouldn't_ be good. Why do I have to spend my time, another valuable resource, _by the way_ , accommodating those people?"

Oikawa lets go of his glass. It doesn't fall far, just _clinks_ and tips over. The bartender side-eyes him.

"Keiji," he says. "Please. You're a sensible man. Please tell me you agree."

Akaashi sighs, sips his beer, doesn't turn to face him. "It's true that they have fewer performance requirements, so they probably don't need the practice rooms as much."

"Exactly—"

"But. Saying they shouldn't get private lessons is going overboard. They're at this school for a reason. We all pay the same tuition."

"Yeah, they're here to learn how to _teach_." Oikawa tries to make Akaashi's words suit his needs. "Not how to perform, like us. Come on, they don't have to be that good if they're not teaching at college level. A one-semester group class should be enough for an instrument. Right? Think of any music ed student you know and pretend they're learning a _full concerto_. Schumann. Ravel. It'd be fucking ridiculous."

Akaashi's reaching for his wallet. "Am I here because you wanted to tell me your views on our curriculum and school policy?"

"... No. No. Sorry." Oikawa runs his hand through his hair. "It's just—I'm not good enough to beat Kageyama. Apparently I'm not even good enough for this new _music ed_ asshole who just popped out of nowhere. Maybe I really should quit, right?" he laughs bitterly.

"Mmm."

"Your dad's company. Don't they try to hire musicians? I could—"

"I should leave." Akaashi leaves cash on the bar.

"Wait." Oikawa grabs his wrist, sliding his hand down to link their fingers. "Let me come over tonight."

Akaashi draws back. He's calm. "We don't have that kind of relationship anymore."

"It's not a relationship, just one—"

"Exactly, just like before. We hang out as friends, we fuck, we tell everyone it's not a relationship. I understand why it needed to be that way, but I don't need that in my life now."

"No, that was two years ago," Oikawa pleads. _No, wait._   _Oikawa Tooru does not plead._ _Just making him see reason_. "It's different now, you know that. I'm not—"

"I also won't sit around and listen to you whine about problems that don't exist. Goodbye, Tooru." Akaashi takes a few steps, hesitates, turns back. Oikawa barely notices.  

"Kageyama is good.That's just how it is," Akaashi says. His voice is a little softer around the edges. "But has anyone actually said he's better than you?"

"..."

"... If you need something _for school_ , call me. Otherwise, good luck with the competition." 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, at 8:30am,

Oikawa Tooru is lying face down in bed. He's not exactly hungover from last night, but he needs to eat something to feel more like a human being right now. Or not—he also wants the aspirin to kick in faster. 

He thinks, _God, I can't even remember if I have class this morning. Where's my phone?_

When he finds it, the notification light is blinking.

 

Iwaizumi Hajime is in his kitchen, eating breakfast and making a grocery list.

He thinks, _Dealing with that shitty asshole made me want cookies, damn it. How do you make the coffee-flavored ones again? Didn't Yachi send me a link to something last week? Where's my phone?_

He finds it when it buzzes.

 

Yachi Hitoka is in her room, sharpening a pile of pencils. She had a nightmare about getting kicked out of school for using a pen to mark up her music.

She thinks, _What if I forgot to do part of the homework last night? The list is in an email... Where's my phone?_

She gets it from her nightstand. It makes a _ting!_ sound.

 

By some cosmic and convenient coincidence, the three of them check their email at the same time.

And all three of them yell, at the top of their lungs,

_"WHAAAAAAAAT?!"_

 

"They're not letting me play Flex this term??" 

"I have to take _another_ theory class??" 

"Look, Shimizu-senpai, there's someone else named Yachi Hitoka and she's getting transferred to Ukai's studio... hahah..." 

 

* * *

 

The following email was sent to the entire piano division.

 

NEW STUDIO ASSIGNMENTS (TERM I)

Second notice. Please disregard all notices previously received. 

Oikawa Tooru  
Ukai Ikkei -> Takeda Ittetsu

Yachi Hitoka  
Takeda Ittetsu -> Ukai Ikkei

 

* * *

 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi each get a version of another email, combined here for brevity:

 

Dear Oikawa Tooru/Iwaizumi Hajime:

After careful consideration and review, we have added to your graduation requirements an 80-minute seminar (PTHE800/ETHE800) designed to improve your division/academic (Oikawa/Iwaizumi) standing. Please see below for modifications to your schedule, if applicable.

Oikawa Tooru

Required  
09:00 - 10:20 am PTHE800 Seminar: Performance Analysis: Theory and Application

Exempt  
10:00 - 10:50 am PPER400 Practicum: Flex Performance

 

Iwaizumi Hajime

Required  
09:00 - 10:20 am ETHE800 Seminar: Performance Analysis: Theory and Application

Exempt  
09:00 - 09:20 am EINS310 Seminar: Instrumental Studies (piano)  
09:30 - 10:20 am EPED410 Piano Pedagogy

 

Your syllabus for P/ETHE800 is attached to this email.

Reviewed and approved by:

Nekomata Yasufumi, Deputy Director; Instructor, Strings Division  
Takinoue Yuusuke, Chair & Instructor, Education Division  
Shimada Makoto, Instructor, Education Division  
Ukai Ikkei, Chair & Instructor, Piano Division  
Takeda Ittetsu, Instructor, Piano Division

 

You may direct all questions to: Takeda Ittetsu

Do not reply to this email; this address is not monitored.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Julie-O](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHCcD5d56ns) (Mark Summer)  
> This is written for cello, and I have no idea if it would work for piano or not. But Suga's magical, so. 
> 
> Mark Summer is a founder of the [Turtle Island Quartet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turtle_Island_Quartet). They play a lot of stuff in this classical x jazz x ?? style!
> 
> By the way, if you only watch one video in this whole fic, [make it this one: it's a guy beatboxing while playing Julie-O.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gBjDEiBGFY) [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Transcendental Etude No. 4, in d minor "Mazeppa"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9BQ1ylApto) (Franz Liszt)  
> The most difficult etude in a set of 12 written by Franz Liszt. Wikipedia describes what inspired this piece, which I think fits Oikawa's performance in this chapter:
> 
> "This complex and virtuosic staple of the Romantic Era repertoire was inspired by Victor Hugo's poem "Mazeppa", in which Mazeppa is strapped onto a horse and the horse is set free to run wild." [return to text]


	3. Octave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octave: a "distance" in music that's 8 notes long. Other than one being higher and one being lower, they sound the same.

The first thing Oikawa has to do for his "Performance Analysis" ( _what does that even mean_ ) seminar is to take a huge exam.

He's  _very_ pleasantly surprised to find out this is a practice test for the one that's part of his fellowship application. The fellowship has been his dream since he became a student here: it provides funding and other support to study and perform in Europe for 2 years upon graduation.

So maybe this seminar is actually some self-study thing, which is fine. Great, actually. The fellowship committee won't even look at his application unless he passes their test and wins a major competition; he'll take all the prep time he can get.

This test turns out to be a piece of cake. The _real_  problem is Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi, who's here, too, and taking the test.

_What's_ he _doing here?_  Oikawa wonders. He can't get that Liszt from studio class out of his head. _Yachi was so sure Iwaizumi isn't competing. Was she lying? Or is Iwaizumi lying to her?_

In some ways, having an enemy like Iwaizumi is worse than dealing with Kageyama Tobio. Oikawa's known Kageyama for years. He's an annoying little shit, but he's a known factor. Oikawa knows how he plays, what he's capable of.

And, as a second-year, he's not eligible for any of this. Iwaizumi _is_.

Iwaizumi just came out of _nowhere_. None of Oikawa's music acquaintances have ever heard of him, and Oikawa can't find his name in any reviews or programs or _anything_ other than a never-updated Facebook profile.

"Ugghhhhh," Iwaizumi groans, stretching his arms up high. "That's it. I'm _done_ with this thing. Hey, you know where Sensei went?"

"N-no. But _I'm_ done. Too. So. Yeah." Oikawa stutters. He was _not_ expecting Iwaizumi to turn and look him right in the eye. It's the first time Oikawa gets a close look at Iwaizumi's face. There's the burning feeling he gets from remembering he hates Tobio-chan, and the Liszt plays over and over in his mind.

"Glad I got _that_ over with," Iwaizumi says. "Didn't expect a guy like you to be taking that test though."

_What._

_What?_

_'A guy like you' what the fuck he IS rubbing it in my face Yachi's too nice or covering—_

Oikawa _slams_ his fist on his desk and stands up so fast he almost knocks his chair over. "What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean? I don't know _who_  you think you _are,_ you asshole. But _I'm_ just as qualified as—"

Iwaizumi is frowning, reaching for Oikawa. "Hey. Whoa. Oikawa, your hand, don't—"

"Let's get started!" A man Oikawa only knows by name enters the room: Takinoue Yuusuke, a music theory professor and the head of the education department.

Oikawa shoves his anger aside. He needs Takinoue to write him a recommendation letter for the fellowship, and this seminar's his only chance to get on the teacher's good side.

Takinoue takes Oikawa's exam and flips through the pages. "Good job. Glad you tested out of my class, though."

_Huh?_

"You would've been that kid in the back playing on his cell phone or flirting with all the girls during lecture because you already knew all the answers."

"Wh—I—"

Iwaizumi snorts. Oikawa wants to punch him.

"Just kidding," the professor smirks. "Yeah, this looks good. I'll officially grade it later today, and Saeko-san and Shimada'll need to look at the rest. But as far as theory goes, I'm sure you'll pass."

Oikawa nods. The two other professors would check the German and history portions of the exam, but he's even more confident about those than he was about the theory.

He tries not to look too smug, but it's hard when he knows Iwaizumi's watching him.

" _You_ , on the other hand..." Takinoue holds his hand out for Iwaizumi's test. Iwaizumi hands it to him and looks out the window.

Oikawa feels his heart racing. He doesn't _actually_ want Iwaizumi to do poorly, but—

... to be honest, he'd feel pretty damn good if Iwaizumi fails.

"Oikawa," Takinoue says. The tone of his voice flattens, and Oikawa sees a deep crease between his brows.

"Huh? What?" _Jesus Christ does he know what I'm thinking or something_ —

"Do you have any students right now? You teach privately?"

"... No." This has always been a thorn in Oikawa's side. Even though performers often teach privately just to make a living, and even though it's good to build a reputation as early as possible... it's the last thing he wants to do. Seeing Akaashi with his _nine_ private students always leaves a bitter taste in Oikawa's mouth.

"Some teaching experience would look good for that fellowship," says Takinoue.

_I know, but—_

"As it stands, no one in my division or Ukai's is willing to write a recommendation for you."

_... what?_

"Really? Not even—" Oikawa says. His voice is shaky.

Takinoue puts up a hand to stop him. "Granted, I'm starting to feel _pret-ty_ good about you after seeing this test. But I need more info on you. To make sure you're not an axe murderer, you know?"

(Nobody laughs.)

"Ukai, though..." he scratches his chin. "He's convinced you don't know how to do anything useful with your free time. Won't hear another word about it. He's even telling his students to stop you from going into his office."

"..."

"So here's what I think," says Takinoue. "For you, this seminar's now an advanced-level practicum for the ed division. Your job is to stop our friend _I-can't-say-it-cause-I'm-a-teacher_ -kun herefrom being the first student to throw off my division's 100% graduation rate." He clamps a hand on Iwaizumi's shoulder. Hard. "It'll be hard work. With his grades, he's not even really a fourth-year right now."

Iwaizumi's still looking out the window.

"Wait, so—" Oikawa's mind is racing. "I have to help him catch up? Make him a fourth-year, make him graduate?"

_I'll be making him eligible for the fellowship?! Ohh no no no no waaaayit a minute._

"Why, I mean, how's he taking the pre-test if his grades—and why me, I'm in performance—" 

Takinoue laughs, hands Oikawa Iwaizumi's exam. "He's fine in all the ed classes. It's only theory. Make him pass and I'll personally guarantee recommendations from Ukai and Nekomata. That leaves one more, but Takeda says you already have it... ?"

Oikawa nods, but he's much more interested in what Takinoue said just before. Oikawa had already been counting on Ukai's reputation for an extra boost on his application. But he wasn't expecting a recommendation from the conservatory's _Director._ Nekomata Yasufumi had a long and successful career as the cellist in a highly-acclaimed quartet before switching gears and literally writing the standard textbook on string pedagogy. They're both incredibly well-connected here _and_  in Europe.

"So have at it," Takinoue says. "Ed division resources are at your disposal, just email me. Iwaizumi, my office."

Oikawa keeps himself calm until the two other men leave the room. Now, his hand is shaking. It's a good opportunity with lots of benefits. It's time spent towards improving his application. _There's gotta be a catch._

He takes a deep breath and looks at Iwaizumi's test.

... he stares at it, scratches his head, turns it upside down because maybe it'll make more sense that way.

_What... ?_

 

* * *

 

"Makki, _what_ am I looking at." Oikawa's slumped over, using his arms as a foreheadrest and talking into the cafe table. Iwaizumi's test is next to him. He knows  _exactly_ what he's looking at, has been staring at it for a week. But...

Hanamaki picks it up. "Huh. Damn." He flips through the pages, eyeing the columns of red marks. "Did this poor bastard mess up their answer sheet? Is everything off by one or something—"

"No," Oikawa mumbles. "Look at the last page."

There are a few measures of a piano sonata printed there, along with a couple of short essay prompts.

Hanamaki squints at it. "Uh. They didn't even write about the right _key_  in this answer. A third grader should know that." He pauses, then sighs. "I mean, I still gotta defend this guy. You know I barely passed these things. Some people suck at tests."

"Makki. Passing's 50%. He got a 12 out of 100. You don't have to defend him. Just... look at the name."

Hanamaki does. He looks at Oikawa, then the test, then Oikawa again.

"PPpppfffttt WHAT." Hanamaki bursts out laughing. He's almost in tears. "Ahhhhhoh my God _seriously?_ The new piano prodigy in town is the village idiot? Ohhh man, Oikawa. My friend. Good job choosing your sworn enemy."

"How am I supposed to hate him when he's _this_ dumb?" Oikawa whines. "I thought this was some sort of joke, I mean, he can't pass  _second-year theory_. But he's really trying to graduate, and he can't right now. Pretty sure this isn't a joke. And I have to learn how to perform miracles starting tomorrow morning."

"As your friend," Hanamaki replies, "I think I'm supposed to feel bad for you, but I'm just gonna sit here and laugh. Or we could talk about _my_ problem, actually," says Hanamaki.

"I still hate him for playing the Liszt like that."

(Except now Oikawa can't really remember that studio class, even if he tries, because of all the guilt he feels from kicking a puppy.)

"Oi." Hanamaki pokes Oikawa's head. "My problem has something to do with _Kageyama Tobio_."

"But Makki, this suuuucks. Iwaizumi's gonna take up all of my time. I haven't even found my girl yet! This is my quarter-life crisis."

Hanamaki sighs. "My condolences." He takes Oikawa's croissant and eats it. "To myself. For being friends with you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... feel really bad for giving Iwa that grade.
> 
> I think? updates will slow down now. Coming up in the future is Yachi trying to survive Ukai's studio, Oikawa tutoring Iwaizumi, and more on Hanamaki's problem. Please look forward to it!


	4. Theme and variations

(ETHE800: Session 1)

Oikawa looks at the assignment Iwaizumi just finished.

"15 out of 20," he says. "Perfectly average. What happened on that exam last week, then?"

Iwaizumi gives Oikawa an even look. "'Had another test that day."

 _Patience, patience,_ Oikawa thinks.

"Test for a class where my grades are decent," Iwaizumi explains. "Studying for that, versus a test for a class I already flunked out of... pretty obvious choice to me. So I did the ones I knew right away then picked random answers for the rest. Why leave it blank when there's a chance—"

" _Okaaay_ ," Oikawa interrupts. "You had more important things to get to. Fine. At worst you skip over... 10 short answer questions. 20 points. Or 20 multiple choice, whatever, I don't really care. The _point_ is, where are the rest of the _points?_ "

"There's only so much I can remember at a time."

Oikawa's getting frustrated. "Key signatures! Scale modes! Stuff like that shouldn't take you more than a second to recognize. What _is_  in that head of yours, then?"

"Three hundred seventy-six," Iwaizumi says. "Since I started here. I've taught three hundred and seventy-six kids. Classes, orchestras, group lessons—a couple of those every term. I think it's important to remember their names. At least more than..." he makes a face. " _This_ stuff."

Oikawa stares at him. "You're saying, _all_ of their names. Even now. After teaching them for only a few months."

"Yeah. It's useful. Sometimes I still run into a few of those kids around here, or their families."

Oikawa shakes his head, looks away, smiles. (He curses his face for betraying him.) _God. They probably all love him, too. What am I supposed to say to that?_

For now, he appeals to logic. "But at least graduate from here. Don't you need to graduate for a license?"

"Yeah. But I could just teach privately, too."

 _..._ _Are you messing with me on purpose or are you just dumb?_ "... So you _don't_ want to graduate."

"I do! Damn it, Oikawa."

What Oikawa meant to say next was, _I can't do shit if you don't tell me what's_ really _going on with you_. But somehow, it ends up sounding like,

"I wonder how far we can get without making you memorize more."

Oikawa's  _involved_ , now _._ There's no turning back.

He paces in front of Iwaizumi, thinking out loud. "Something's not adding up, because this isn't you. We're figuring this out, you and me, because—I have to say it—you're good. I  _refuse_ to believe someone who can play _that_ _Liszt_ as well as _I_ can would fail this har—"

"—d. Um."

Iwaizumi is looking out the window and smiling.

Smiling.

 _Smiling_.

Oikawa is _horrified_. It's like watching the live zoo cam and actually getting to see the baby panda.

_What is wrong with me what is wrong with me_

"Ugh." He's shoving papers into his bag as fast as he's losing his composure. "Just...  _ONLY_ because I need those recommendations. And you _MIGHT_ be easier to teach than an _ACTUAL_ idiot."

Iwaizumi's looking at him now. Silent. Observing.

"You. Iwa—ugh, _stop that_. I mean you stop that mixing Roman numerals up in your analysis okay see you in studio class _bye_."

 

* * *

 

(Session 2)

"Huh."

"Oikawa. What."

"Your notes are surprisingly cute for a guy like you."

"I'm gonna ignore that last part. The notes are from Yachi. Pretty good, right? I kinda feel bad writing on them."

Oikawa sees excerpts copied by hand with melodic lines color-coded, footnotes sorted by measure number, cross-references to similar chord progressions...

"I'm impressed."

"Me too," Iwaizumi replies. "At the fact that you actually said something nice about somebody else."

Oikawa glares at Iwaizumi. "God, you piss me off."

 _Tch_. Oikawa scoffs at himself. _I guess there's nothing wrong with me after all._

 

* * *

 

(Session 4)

Oikawa paces back and forth in front of Iwaizumi's desk.

_This is it. I'm onto something, I can't be wrong, this is it._

"... relative minor for B flat." Oikawa asks Iwaizumi. He watches carefully.

"G."

_All right, he didn't even have to think for that one._

"For E-flat."

"... Hang on."

 _Knew it._ Knew _it. There's only one possible explanation for knowing one and not the other. ... but one more test._

"What major key has four sharps?"

"..."

"Okay, what _are_ the four sharps?"

"F sharp C sharp G sharp D sharp."

"Oh my GOD," Oikawa shouts.

Iwaizumi's ready to fight. "The _hell_ , you rude ass— _oof_."

Oikawa throws his arms around Iwaizumi and laughs.

Iwaizumi gets a mouthful of Oikawa's shoulder and rocks back in his seat from the momentum. "Mmhehhnnnff," he says.

Oikawa lets go. He's squatting next to Iwaizumi with a goofy smile looking  _delirious_. "Oh my God you'll pass I'll _win_ I could kiss you right now."

Iwaizumi has a coughing fit. "Um. ... Don't?" he wheezes.

"God, you've been memorizing _everything_ , haven't you? I don't think anyone else could've made it this far in school if they were in your shoes. You're actually kind of amazing, you know that?" Oikawa rambles. "That memory of yours..."

Iwaizumi stares at him like he's never seen a human being before.

"It's like you learned multiplication without addition. Like, you know two times three is six, but you don't know that it's the same as two plus two plus two. Or, you learned a language by memorizing whole sentences, because no one ever told you words exist—I _see_ you making that face, just go with it."

"You end up memorizing _so many_ sentences that you're fluent. Why bother learning individual words if you already know how to use them?"

Oikawa's on a roll. He's excited, talking faster and faster. "Okay, okay, think about how many things you've tried to memorize about major and minor keys in music. Take that number and divide it by _twenty-four_. That's how much you _actually_ need to know."

He pauses. "What I don't get," he says thoughtfully, "is how this happened... You did have music teachers growing up, right? For private lessons? Hey. Iwaizumi?"

"Oh. Yeah. I did."

"And?" Oikawa prompts.

He only gets a glare from Iwaizumi, one that's almost... 

(Later on, Oikawa will wholeheartedly regret not pushing the matter when he had the chance. But for now...)

"Never mind," he says. "You know, I'm actually looking forward to next week. This will be so easy~"

_Those recommendations are mine._

 

* * *

 

And it is. Time-consuming, but easy. Several weeks come and go without a hitch.

 

* * *

 

(Before Session 7)

Oikawa thinks he's imagining it, at first. It's far away, only somewhat audible.

But it's _good_.

He feels it in his heart. 

_No one at school plays this well. It has to be her._

He follows the music. As he gets closer and closer, he's even more sure that it's her. The playing is airy, beautiful, and compelling. The impact isn't quite the same, only hearing bits and pieces from a distance, but he thinks it'd be obvious to anyone listening: she's amazing.

He's so intent on tracking the sound that, at first, he doesn't realize where he's stopped. But it dawns on him, this place, the source of the music: that now-familiar classroom he comes to every week.

_Oh God._

_No._

_No it can't I don't he's NOT—_

 

  
The door opens. "Oi, you're late," says Iwaizumi. He steps aside for Oikawa to enter. The music hasn't stopped. 

Oikawa can't move. _If not—then—_

 _Wait a minute_.

Hearing that piano, now without doors and walls in the way...

 

 

  
_UGH Goddamnit._

_Stupid stupid stupid ugh I'm the worst_

"Iwaizumi you're the worst _how_ could you _do_  this to me?" Oikawa wails. He stomps inside the classroom and _slaps_ the sound system's power button like it just insulted him and his family.

Iwaizumi is stunned. "The hell did I do?"

"You, Iwaizumi Hajime," Oikawa takes hold of Iwaizumi's shoulder and looks at him with eyes shining, face flushed, lip bitten.

Iwaizumi gulps.

"You _gave_  me _hope_  then _smashed_  it into _a million pieces!_ "

"What!?"

All of the life drains out of Oikawa until he kind of just... exists.

Iwaizumi's gesturing, waving his hands like there's a barrier around Oikawa, torn between touching him and pushing him away. "Hey, you're not. Oi. Look, I can't fix anything if—"

Oikawa rushes out of the classroom and slams the door behind him.

Iwaizumi is still gaping at the door when it slowly inches open. Oikawa's head appears. He's pouting.

"I'm getting myself a croissant doyouwantanything," he mumbles.

"Uh," Iwaizumi says. "I'll get it for you. You just... I'm sorry? What just happened is that what I'm supposed to say? Stay and relax? I have no idea—"

Oikawa slinks inside. He sits on the floor and hugs his knees to his chest.

Iwaizumi comes back and gives Oikawa two croissants and a cup of coffee.

 

* * *

 

(Session 9)

They're just getting settled in the classroom when the door bursts open.

Hanamaki's doubled over and panting, holding onto the doorframe for support. "Oh. Damn," he says.

Oikawa frowns. "Well, nice to see you too, Makki."

Hanamaki ignores him. "Hey, have you guys seen a girl, small, long hair but fringe kinda like mine? Yellow sweater."

"No, sorry," Iwaizumi replies.

Oikawa blinks. "Makki, if you're trying to get a girlfriend—"

"Don't. Oikawa. Just don't," Hanamaki says sharply. "She's in my trio. Which _thanks to you_  is a hot mess."

"Hey! What did I do?" Oikawa complains.

Hanamaki scoffs at him. "Some friendly advice would've been good, but nope, you had to swoon over that girl and whine about Iwaizumi."

Iwaizumi shrugs. "Oh. Huh. I'm Iwaizumi. Guess I'm the guy he whines about."

"Oh hey. Hah. Hanamaki. Fourth-year cello performance. I'm the guy stuck being friends with this idiot."

"Sorry to hear that," Iwaizumi says.

"Hey!  _Ugh_ shut up. Tell me what happened."

"Kageyama happened," Hanamaki explains. "He's a dick to Kuribayashi so she ran away. Our clarinet. Every rehearsal, he tells her she's not good, tells her what to do, says she doesn't act like a 'good musician suited for this group.'"

"His usual, then," says Oikawa.

"He should keep his damn mouth shut!"

Oikawa considers this. "Is he right though?"

"Huh? Hanamaki and Iwaizumi say together.

"Is she not good enough?"

Hanamaki pauses, thinks, says, "I mean, she's only a second-year. And she's improved a lot since the beginning of the school year, so—"

"What a diplomatic answer. So she needs to practice more, and then there wouldn't be a problem," Oikawa concludes.

Hanamaki gives him a flat look. "This again, huh."

"I hate to say it, but Tobio-chan's right." Oikawa sighs. "She needs to pull her weight. If you gave her a chance, and she still can't do it, you need to tell the teachers. They'll find a better group for her."

" _Arrrgghhh_ I get really fucking sick of you sometimes, you know that?" Hanamaki squeezes his hands into fists. "Don't you think the teachers had a good reason for putting our trio together in the first place?"

Iwaizumi starts to say something, closes his mouth. He picks up the the nearest orchestral score and smacks Oikawa's head.

Oikawa looks completely scandalized; even Hanamaki can't react.

"You have a shitty personality, you know that?" Iwaizumi says. "People aren't... Pokemon, you idiot."

"What?!" Oikawa and Hanamaki both look lost.

"You can't just shove a bunch of candy down their throats to make them level up quick! Or throw them in storage to bring a better one with you." 

"Hey Oikawa," says Hanamaki. "If you don't want this guy, I'm taking him as a friend."

Oikawa sighs. He says, wearily, " _Irrelevant._ She should take it up with her teacher and practice, then. It's not like you or Kageyama can do anything for her—she's a _wind_ player—so it's her responsibility to shape up or get out."

The door closes with a soft _creeeeak_.

"Was that... Fuck. Hey! Wait!" Hanamaki runs out of the room.

"Jesus Christ, Oikawa." Iwaizumi follows him.

Oikawa watches them run off and ends up staring down the hallway for a long time. "I don't get it," he says to himself. He leans back against a wall, lets his head hit with a soft _thmp_. "I'm not  _actually wrong_ , am I?"

 

* * *

 

(Session 10)

Iwaizumi doesn't show up.

He's not in studio class, either.

Oikawa finds Takeda in the recital hall and—

_—psh. Like I care._

 

* * *

  
(Session 11)

"Oi. Oikawa. Hey. Wake up."

"Huh? Owww stop what  _Iwaizumi_ what the hell—" Oikawa wakes up to Iwaizumi poking him with a pencil. He sits up and musters as much dignity as he can with the shape of his sleeve imprinted on his face.

"What do you want, Iwaizumi."

"Oh. Uh. Can you help me with this." 

Mozart's Sonata for Two Pianos in D major. "... Why?" Oikawa says suspiciously.

"Yachi says Ukai wants her to learn it, and she needs someone to play the other part."

"Oh-ho." He stands and sneers at Iwaizumi. "So that's why you're willing to come back to me with your tail between your legs, huh."

Iwaizumi doesn't take the bait. "She's freaking out. You don't know her, it can get really bad. Please."

Oikawa goes to the piano, turns his back to Iwaizumi and runs his finger across a few keys. "... what do you need _me_ for?"

"You were saying something about chords resolving and not and how people know and play them a certain way. She does that, and I need to be in sync with her."

Oikawa draws himself to full height and looks down his nose at Iwaizumi.

"And this is important to you."

"You think I'd be here if it isn't?"

"... Fine. I'll play her part and you take yours. First of all, listen to how I'll pause here and why—"

"Hey." Iwaizumi interrupts. "Thanks, by the wa—"

"—you, as the second part supporting there should listen to her and..."

 ...

 

* * *

 

Yachi Hitoka. A nice girl, Oikawa thinks. He peeks at her through the practice room window, playing alongside Iwaizumi.  _Cute. Seems thoughtful and considerate._

 _Especially about Iwaizumi._ _And, she's in my spot._

"... what-cha' doin'?" Hanamaki hoops his chin on Oikawa's shoulder.

"GAHHHshhh!" Oikawa points to the window. "It's Yachi and Iwaizumi."

"Huh," Hanamaki says. "Not even gonna play it off like you're _not_  spying on your boy, huh."

"My b—no! Yachi. In Ukai's studio. I wanted to see if—"

"If she's worthy of your spot," Hanamaki finishes.

Oikawa gives him a dirty look. "I just want to _help_ her if she can't deal."

"By taking back your rightful throne. Tell me I'm wrong."

"Shut up. Shhh!"

They hear the Mozart duet.[1]

 _He's got it_ , Oikawa thinks, listening to the parts begin in unison. No hesitation, no mistakes. Next, Yachi on the first part takes the lead. Oikawa closes his eyes and, to his surprise, thinks of

 

(black feathers and snow-white roses)

 

He opens his eyes.

_She... sounds just like me._

 

_Tch. Guess I'm easy to replace._

Hanamaki asks, "Who's playing what part? I don't know this one at all."

Oikawa hands over the score, hoping his reaction will be something like,  _'She's good, but not quite there.'_ Or _'She's a boring carbon copy.'_

"Huh. She sounds just like you," Hanamaki says. "Except... she's better."

_Shit._

Oikawa's about to spit back an insult before he hears it: perfect little spheres of sound made of quicksilver.

 _It's her._  

He'd expected a little more color and vibrance, something that would take him back to summer, but after all there _is_ a door in the way.  _But_. Wait. The two parts are crossing just a bit out of time; dissonant tones appear where they shouldn't. They're not mistakes, and even Hanamaki probably doesn't notice, but it's enough. It makes the sound shift and pop too quickly for Oikawa to hear and  _feel_.

They're well into the first movement, now. Yachi is getting more and more unpredictable, capricious—the notes move in a frenzy and Iwaizumi is starting to lag behind. It's getting unstable.

 _But he's still doing okay_ , Oikawa notices. _Listening, adjusting, supporting her when she needs it_.

"Iwaizumi's playing well," he tells Hanamaki. "You're looking for a pianist, right? Heard you actually convinced Tobio-chan to request a transfer."

Hanamaki narrows his eyes at him. "You sabotaging me, Oikawa? Yeah, Iwaizumi's a cool guy, but musically? If he's as bad as his grades—"

" _Hanamaki_." Oikawa's voice turns to ice. "Do you _honestly_ think I'd mess with your last trio at this school. We're fourth-years. We're going to _burn_  our music into this school and leave as top performers. _Winners_."

Hanamaki goes wide-eyed, but only for a moment before it turns into a grin. "Right. My bad. Guess I forgot who I was talking to."

The two of them listen quietly. 

"... he's actually not bad, huh," Hanamaki admits. "But stubborn. I don't even know _what_  the hell that girl's playing now, and he's still trying to follow."

"He'll catch up on the theory, too," says Oikawa.

Hanamaki nods. "Sold. Plus, his personality's a thousand times better than Kageyama's... probably at least ten times better than yours, too."

"Hey!"

Suddenly, a voice that doesn't belong to either of them. " _Oi!_ "

The door flies open, and Iwaizumi's there with pencil in hand. "I'm happy your topic of the day is 'insult Oikawa', but. Go. Away. You're. Distracting. Us." He pokes Oikawa and Hanamaki's foreheads at each pause then slams the door in their faces.

"Wh—f—uh—" Oikawa splutters.

"Come on," Hanamaki says, shooing Oikawa away from the practice room. " _Leeet's_ go. No more stalking. You find us something new to play to get the taste of Kageyama out of my mouth, and we're even."

Oikawa cringes. "Ew. Don't ever say that again. 'We're even' for what?"

"What do you mean 'for what,' for being mean to Kuribayashi."

"I didn't—"

Hanamaki stops dead in his tracks and _glares_.

"... Fine. Tell me how she plays and I'll figure something out. But nothing Mozart-y, yeah?"

Hanamaki claps Oikawa on the shoulder. "Good man."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Sonata for Two Pianos in D major, K. 448](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iePyP2HOr8) (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) [return to text]


	5. Deceptive cadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceptive cadence: When a chord progression doesn't end as expected.

"Eeeeeeeee!"

~~Yachi screeches to a halt at the corner of the hallway.~~

Yachi tries really hard to screech to a halt at the corner hallway, but deep down she knows she has zero reflexes and coordination for... anything. She barrels into Mina and Sunakawa and falls on the floor.

"Sorry!" Yachi looks up at them, rubbing the back of her head. "I'm so sorry! Oh no, Senpai, Mina-chan! Are you two okay?"

Sunakawa offers her a hand, a smile, and an eye roll subtle enough to still be polite. "We're okay. You're the one on the floor, Yachi-san."

Mina starts gathering all the scores that fell out of Yachi's bag. She frowns when she ends up with a giant stack in her arms. "You should really use a backpack. It's better for your back, you know. Or get your _best friend in the whole wide world_ to carry everything for you~ Suna-kun's mine, though. You can't have him."

She throws an arm around Sunakawa's shoulders, and he almost loses his balance from that and the weight of her bag already on his back. Yachi gives him a sad look for the third time this week.

"Umm, have you two seen Oikawa-san?" Yachi asks.

"I don't think I've ever seen him in this part of the building," Sunakawa says.

"Yeah, why are you looking for him here?" asks Mina. "It's full of creepy history nerds... don't roll your eyes at me," she says to Sunakawa, "you're a teacher's assistant so you're better than everyone else."

He laughs. "Thanks for defending me against you."

Yachi's only paying half-attention to them; right now, escaping from Oikawa and his fanclub is _crucial_.

"No, I'm not looking for him," she says, distracted. "I'm running away from him. Plus his fans are trying to kill me because he's following me _aaaack!_ "

Mina seizes Yachi by her shoulders and shakes her so hard she thinks her brain is rattling inside her head. "Yacchan that is _literally_ the _dumbest_ thing I've ever heard. One: why would Oikawa follow you around? Two: Nobody's _ever_ going to kill you at school. Three: even if you're right, which you're _not_ , I don't get why he has such a big fanclub anyway. Most of his 'fans' in my year don't even care about how he plays. I mean, yeah, he's hot and everything, but I go out with prettier boys than he does."

"But he goes out with prettier girls than you do," Sunakawa says. He pulls Mina away from Yachi.

"Hey! That's 'cause I don't date girls _shut up_ Suna-kun plus we all know I'm more beautiful than all of them," Mina huffs.

Not for the first time, Yachi is amazed that Mina can say this kind of thing like she's talking about the weather. Just like Oikawa... She's heard enough stories from Iwaizumi for her to know that Mina and Oikawa are more or less personality twins.

_It would've been so easy to talk to him when I was supposed to. Just like talking to Mina-chan. Now it's been three days and it's too late and he's furious._

_But I..._

Yachi looks at the floor, feeling defeated. "... when all the senpais in the studio found out I'm his new accompanist," she explains, "they started saying all of these things like 'buy some earplugs 'cause he'll yell at you all the time' or 'you can come talk to me if he makes you cry' or 'try to remember that it's him, not you.'"

"Wait, WAIT!" Mina shouts. "Has he been _yelling_ at you during rehearsal? THAT'S why you're running away? Oh my God _why didn't you say that_ I'm gonna beat him up so hard—" she rolls up her sleeves for effect.

"No!" Yachi insists, because Mina does look like she's ready to do some damage. "He didn't. We... actually haven't ever rehearsed... because I kinda didn't tell him I'm his accompanist yet... "

Mina deflates and shakes her head. "... Yacchan—"

"It's all my fault," Yachi continues. "And now he's mad that I'm wasting his time and I _really_ can't tell him now because it's too late. Bad stuff happens whenever we're near each other."

"... 'Bad stuff'?"  
"Huh? What?"

Yachi nods. "Yesterday I tripped on a rope, a chalkboard eraser fell on my head, and there were fake bugs all over the piano I was about to practice on!"

"Um. Aren't those—"  
"They're all really lame pranks you see in cartoons and stuff!"

"If you're worried enough to be running away," Sunakawa says. "Would your teacher reconsider if you ask? Put you with someone else?"

Yachi's voice is tiny and tentative when she says, "Ukai-sensei said it's a good test for me, because if I can play for Oikawa-san, I can play for anybody."

"..."

"Ouch," Mina says. "So even Ukai thinks he's awful. Good luck with that, Yacchan _ow Suna-kun_ okay I mean, this is what you need to do: practice once with him so you can say you tried. Come tell us if he's mean. I'll practice kicking so I don't mess up my hands, and Suna-kun can sic some teenagers on him."

Suna looks at her for a beat, thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "I do have a bass player who used to be a delinquent. I'm sure we can work something out."

Yachi smiles, because she loves her silly but amazing friends, but now she also feels really, really bad for holding Oikawa up.

"Okay." She tries to stand tall and square her shoulders. "Umm, tomorrow. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I... just need a little more time to prepare myself."

"Yachi-san," Sunakawa says in a low voice. "Tomorrow's looking more like 30 seconds. I think I see him coming this way."

"Eeeeee!" Yachi claps her hands over her mouth. "What do I do what do I do I'm not ready—"

Mina winks at Yachi. "I'll go stall him, 'kay?" She tosses her hair back and walks towards Oikawa with a smile.

Yachi rushes to make her escape. "See you later, Senpai," she whispers to Sunakawa, but he's getting ready to leave, too. He hoists Mina's bag onto his back with a soft grunt and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. "Are we going the same way?" he asks. "I'm going to the east entrance."

 _Huh?_ "But aren't you waiting for—"

Yachi stops herself. _I don't have the right to get involved when I can't even do something so simple like talk to Oikawa-senpai._

"I think I'll head home for a while," she says. "Can you thank Mina for me later?"

He walks away in silence.

 

* * *

 

"I'm only doing this because you're _maybe_ more handsome than the average pianist and because Yacchan needs to talk to you too." Mina _hmphs_. "Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm the senpai."

 _Hah,_ Oikawa thinks. _That attitude... If her playing gets a little better, she might actually be interesting._

Mina suddenly starts running. She flits back and forth across the hallway, looking through classroom windows—goes around the corner, comes back—checks under the bench—she finds and picks up a few scores from the floor, but she still seems frustrated.

Oikawa's feeling unsettled, seeing her confidence vanish into thin air. She's nervous, frantic, a complete stranger compared to the girl who sassed him for a good three minutes just now.

_... so what? I don't need to see this. To be here._

"Well then," he says. "I should get goi—"

"Get Iwaizumi-senpai," Mina says in almost a monotone. She doesn't look at Oikawa. "They're super close. He's probably better at talking some sense into her than anyone else I know. Did you see a guy leave when we were talking?"

Oikawa pauses mid-step. He did think about asking Iwaizumi for advice, but that made him think about music theory notes and the look on his face when he ran after that girl in Makki's trio.

 _"Jesus Christ, Oikawa,"_ he'd said.

With a look of surprise, disgust, and undeniable disappointment.

Oikawa wants to spit out whatever he tastes in his mouth.

_I'm not like him, all making-friends and doing-favors. God, why did I even help him help her? Damn it. I'm done with him._

"Ughh, he's not answering... " Mina tosses her phone back into her purse. She seizes Oikawa by the shoulders. "This is _very. Important_. You're _sure_ you didn't see Haru leave."

Oikawa's so surprised that he almost jumps. No one's ever just _grabbed_ him like this. "W-who?"

"Suna-kun! Sunakawa! Ugh. Never mind." Mina releases Oikawa and tugs hard on a lock of her hair. She checks her phone again.

She's starting to overwhelm him, with her feelings out in plain sight like this. And a girl like this with a guy like that? He stops himself from cringing.

"I'm sure it's not a big deal," he says. "He probably just had something to do."

"... he's never left without texting or telling me," Mina mumbles. "Never. Since I was 5 years old."

"Friends since you were kids, huh." Oikawa hears himself say. "Must be nice."

_No that sounds terrible dead weight the hell why did I just—_

"It is. It's the best." She smiles at him; it's almost blinding. "I'm gonna go find him. So, here." She gives Oikawa the music she picked up earlier. "Yacchan's, I think. Now you have a real reason to talk to her, instead _freaking her out even more_ with whatever big secret you can't tell anyone else about. Just stop being dumb and _go!_ "

She runs off without looking back.

Well, Oikawa thinks, "Here, you dropped this earlier" is probably better than "Hey, I need you to play Mozart for me in the recital hall RIGHT NOW so I can see if you're my soulmate." (He'd make it sound better than that, but still.)

_Yeah, this is good. No need to talk to Iwaizumi._

...

_Huh?_

He looks at what he's holding.

_Shit._

He regrets ever thinking the words 'yeah, this is good.' Tension shoots from his shoulders up his neck to his jaw to his teeth. He fights the urge to shred the music to pieces.

Beethoven number 5.[1] Tchaikovsky number 2.[2] The solo part, orchestra score, piano reduction.[3] All the parts for serious study.

"These are mine," he says in a strained whisper.

_Ukai's having her learn my concertos._

With this evidence in hand, his thoughts wreak havoc through his heart like a hurricane.

_What, so she can show me up in a recital? Public shaming, wouldn't put it past the old man. I can't play in one this term, they took that from me too and gave it to her again_

He flips through the music and finds detailed notes everywhere—

_perfectly square and even writing_

_thin and consistent lines from a mechanical pencil_

_fingerings that are clever, compensate for her small hands_

_page_

_after page_

_after page_

_after_

_..._

Wait.

_Wait._

_This was her idea. To learn these. That's it._

She keeps avoiding him, running away, completely freaking out for no good reason except—right, _of course_ , guilt from trying to replace him.

 

_(replaced replaced replaced)_

 

He hears the Mozart duet she played with Iwaizumi in his mind and hates that he loved it.

_And Iwaizumi. He would've ditched tutoring if he wasn't asking for my help on that duet with her—_

_How stupid. Doesn't he care about his pride?_

_(why does that matter)_

—all of it comes down to a single answer. The only answer. The only way to make his thoughts shut the fuck up.

_"I need to practice. Now."_

 

* * *

 

"Yo!" The practice room door opens, and Hanamaki walks in swinging a pair of studio headphones on one finger. "You owe me lunch for making me go—Oikawa, _what_ are you doing."

"Makki! My hero! Just taking a break," Oikawa chirps. Trash covers almost every flat surface of the room. He's pulling items out from piles of junk on the floor and lining them up on the the only clear space left: on top of the upright piano.

It looks like he's organizing ingredients for a cooking show. There's an empty drink glass, a cocktail shaker, a ten-pack of Yakult, half a dozen little brown bottles, and a green twisty straw.

Hanamaki faces the wall and hits his head on it several times. "Why the hell do you have a cocktail shaker with you but not a pair of headphones? Are you a goddamn music student or a _bartender?_ "

Oikawa pours everything into the shaker, then pours that into the glass. "Try this. It's pretty good!" He throws the empty bottles over his shoulder and presents Hanamaki with the drink. It's neon yellow.

"No thanks," Hanamaki says. "I have a normal human body that can't handle ten thousand milligrams of caffeine in one sip. I don't know how your fancy 'I ate foie gras for lunch in kindergarten' palate can drink this shit."

"Well, thank you for acknowledging my refined taste. And dining is an adventure, Makki—"

" _Waaaaaay_ more importantly, how long have you been here? Why are you pulling this shit again? Did Kageyama do something?"

"No, no, Tobio-chan's just being his idiot self. But since you're here... what's the best, Rach 2, Rach 3, or Tchaik 1? For the competition."

"That's not funny," Hanamaki says.

Oikawa smiles at him.

"You..." Hanamaki's expression flips back and forth between anger and frustration. "You're changing your concerto _now?!_ What happened to the Beethoven? And didn't you have a plan B you've been working on? What happened to that?"

"Yeah, Tchaik 2. But the judges won't be impressed."

"Not this again," Hanamaki groans. "Dude. You're not a mind reader. This is just your brain making shit up about the judges. Do you even know who they are? And seriously, you really think you can learn one of those in time for the prelims? Just play the goddamn Beethoven and win, you fucking idiot! _Damn it!_ Fuck. I thought you'd be farting rainbows since you found your mystery lady."

Oikawa's expression darkens. "Haven't confirmed it yet."

"What the hell," Hanamaki says. "You need the planets to be aligned or whatever weird shit you're into these days?

Oikawa shrugs. "I won't listen to her until I can prove that I'm better."

Hanamaki throws the headphones at him. "How the fuck did you go from being in love with her to... I dunno, argh, pretending she's Kageyama?! Please. Stop. Think about what you're saying. And doing. And Jesus Christ fucking eat something before you drink any more of that crap."

Oikawa picks up the headphones and puts them on. "Thanks, Makki. I'll buy you a beer some time." He smiles, scrolls through all of the Rachmaninoff on his phone, and pretends no one else is there.

 

* * *

 

"Damn it, these pianos suck!" Oikawa kicks the upright. He's stuck in the tiny practice rooms again; playing the way-too-loud grand piano under way-too-bright lights in the recital hall doesn't do his headache any favors.

But whatever. It's fine. Practice is practice. And it's a good day for it—Takinoue cancelled tutoring today because Iwaizumi had some teaching thing, Hanamaki hasn't been back to lecture him, and his fingers still remember the Rachmaninoff that he hasn't touched since high school.

He'll use it to fight and get revenge. From all of them.

 

* * *

 

Sergei Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto no. 2.[4] It's known as one of the best—and most difficult—concertos written for piano.

The opening takes us back to the turn of the century, in the final years of the Russian Empire.

In the dead of winter, the silent concert hall, there are the deep, resonating tolls of faraway church bells. Chords from the piano—quiet, yet solid and heavy—each with a low, rumbling echo you feel as much as you hear.

The bells stir the hearts of the men and women who together—despite the threat of displacement, capture, _death_ —dare to sing a song of revolution.

The violins and violas start in unison, joined by the woodwinds. Underneath, the piano is a dizzying, thrashing current of notes that speaks of the painful, turbulent times across the nation. But the orchestra rides the waves with dignity and grace. Swells in the peasant song's melody match the crests and troughs beneath them—they're no strangers to this war and the suffering it brings. They're tired, injured, afraid—and still, they _fight_.

As time passes, new themes and songs and emotions enter; roles are passed back and forth between piano and orchestra. But one fact remains: this is a concerto where they pull each other out of the darkness over and over until they emerge together as survivors and victors.

It is the story of the struggle against oppression, fueled by and intertwined with Rachmaninoff's own suffering; the concerto is his essay on a dark time in his life when depression took music away from him. With this concerto, he describes how one survives—pushing, clawing through pain and failure and dwindling hope. But, above all, he reminds us of the pure and endless beauty that waits for those who fight on.[5]

 

* * *

 

In Oikawa's opinion, the ultimate, greatest, truest performance of this piece already happened: at its premiere, when Rachmaninoff himself was the soloist—the storyteller. The only way to play this piece now, he thinks, is to follow the score like a sacred text. Respect every single mark from the composer's hand. No, he doesn't just _think_ , he _knows_.

But.

_("What are you doing, Tooru? They can tell that you're hiding. Even the ones who don't know can tell. When you're out there, you're just a second-rate actor on the wrong stage.")_

_("You're old enough to understand that you're playing for the audience. Not for yourself, not for your naive ideals.")_

He has a whole mental catalog of warm, fuzzy words of encouragement like this.

"Yes, Mother," Oikawa says with a bitter laugh, and returns to the first movement.

...

...

...

Or... not.

The chatter won't leave him alone, from his mother, from Ukai, from judges' comments at competitions.

He can't play like this.

"Quick water break," Oikawa mumbles to himself.

He walks right into the door.

_What the hellll_

_Maybe I need more energy drinks._

He tries again. The doorknob turns, but the door won't open.

Again: this time, he puts his weight into it. It gives a little, so he rocks the door back and forth, pushing out harder each time—

"Ow! Goddamnit _okay!_ I'll get up!"

The door swings free before Oikawa registers the words and after he'd pushed way too hard. He flies forward; there's probably a faceplant waiting for him in about 0.3 seconds—

"Ow!"  
"Ugh!"

He doesn't hit his face, but his chin does clip... someone's shoulder? It hurts. His face is burning, and he can't move. Maybe because of the arms wrapped tightly around him, but probably because his body apparently decided it's pretty happy here and won't budge.

"H-hey..."

Oikawa feels the word tickle the side of his neck.

_Who—OH MY GOD_

Oikawa shoves hard, frees himself and stumbles back against the door.

"I-Iwah-hah-Iwaizumi what the hell are you doing here?! Did you pass out in the hallway or something?"

_... Or were you spying?_

"No!" Iwaizumi yells. His face is flushed pink, and he's looking everywhere but at Oikawa. "I was listening! Well, not, okay, at first I got back from work and saw you here, so I was gonna say sorry about missing this morning. But—"

"Wait why would you apologize?"

"—I heard you playing and I guess I really wanted to listen."

"... what? Why?" Oikawa scrutinizes Iwaizumi's face, looking for any twitch or shift that points to a lie.

"You're playing everything!" Iwaizumi shows his phone to Oikawa—it's the solo piano part for the Rachmaninoff. "All the notes and dynamics are right. The way you play is incredible, it would take me forever to get through the first page if I had to play while reading this mess."

Oikawa laughs a little bit, in spite of himself. "You know you're supposed to play everything on the page, right? That's what we _do_. It's why sheet music exists."

Iwaizumi shrugs. "I mean, I don't most of the time and it still sounds okay. But it sounds _right_ when you play it."

"Umm, thanks?" Oikawa really wants to leave; Iwaizumi's praise is making him uncomfortable, somehow. "But I should get back to practicing."

"Wait, you're still gonna play? For how long?"

"Until I get tired?"

"No, you have to sleep, studio class is first thing tomorrow."

Oikawa frowns. "Thanks for your concern. But no thanks." He heads back into the practice room—

"Wait! If you're still gonna play, I'm staying."

_Why? Why are you still here? Why do you care? Why the hell are you covered in paint?!_

"Excuse me?" is what Oikawa actually says.

"Uh, no, not like... You don't..." Iwaizumi backpedals. "I mean, can I stay? I won't sit in front of the door. Just to listen a little more."

Once again, Oikawa tries and fails to figure him out. "Why?"

"I don't go to studio class that often, so I don't get to hear..." Iwaizumi trails off and looks away.

"... you..."

Oikawa shakes his head and goes back into the practice room.

"Get in here," he says, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear from the hallway. "You can look for a copy of that score in my bag, don't try to read it from your phone. I'm getting some water."

When they look at each other in passing, Oikawa's a little more prepared for Iwaizumi's smile this time.

(Only a little.)

 

* * *

 

"You can't possibly expect me to believe you eat this crap every day." Oikawa picks up the plastic leaf from Iwaizumi's store-bought bento like it's a dirty sock.

They're sitting side-by-side against the wall in the practice room, Iwaizumi with the bento in his lap and Oikawa judging him.

"What!" Iwaizumi protests. "I see you eat packaged bread all the time!"

"Yeah, as a snack! This... thing... is your dinner! And why are you eating dinner at 11:30?!"

"Shut up," Iwaizumi says. "It's perfectly good food."

"It's not. Eat that when you're drunk or something. Here." Oikawa shoves a thermos, a piece of a baguette, and a spoon at Iwaizumi. "Eat. Don't complain. There aren't any nuts in it. ... but give me the bread if it's too stale, I'll use it."

Iwaizumi looks taken aback. "How'd you know... is this thing poisoned?"

Oikawa chokes on a sip of water. "You are _the rudest person ever_." He opens the thermos—

"Holy _crap_ that smells good," Iwaizumi says.

—and eats a spoonful of stew. "There. Happy? It's a little cold, but—"

" _Thankyouforthefood_." Iwaizumi's barely past the last syllable, but he shoves half the piece of bread in his mouth and chases it with some stew. Oikawa blinks, still holding the spoon, and tries to process _when_ and _how_ Iwaizumi even took the food from him.

"Oikawa," says Iwaizumi, after demolishing the bread. "Did you make this? Does your family own a restaurant? Is this Italian? French?"

Oikawa jolts a little bit at the questions but finds himself answering anyway. "It's nothing like that. Uh, my mom had—has—a chef. French. He taught me a lot, so."

He almost says too much and changes the subject in a hurry. "... The pink on your shoe clashes with that splotch of green on your pants."

Iwaizumi sighs, lets his head fall back against the wall. "The teacher I worked with today... I was a chaperone at her kid's birthday party after school. One of the presents had paint involved." 

"You must really like kids, huh."

Oikawa is surprised when he only gets a shrug from Iwaizumi, even more when  _he_ changes the subject this time. 

"Thanks for the food. Seriously," Iwaizumi says. He hands over the empty thermos. "That wasn't _your_ dinner, was it?"

 _Huh._ Oikawa files that away for later and keeps his curiosity in check for now. "Nah. I bring extra food since I get hungry around 2 or 3 in the morning, but I don't know if I'll last that long today."

"All right, if you say so... but really, thanks. Seriously. That was amazing."

"Stop saying that." 

"Huh?"

"That was just random stuff I had in the fridge. I can make something way better if you want _don't look at me like that oh my God Iwaizumi you're like a stupid puppy—_ "

They're both laughing and elbowing each other and it's nothing like what Oikawa had imagined talking to Iwaizumi again would be like. Something unravels, and he realizes he's exhausted.

"Payment," he says to Iwaizumi. "For the food."

"Oh, okay, yeah, I mean, that was better than a restaurant. What do I owe you—" Iwaizumi reaches for his bag—

"Not that. Play for me?" Oikawa yawns. "I've never really heard... curious...." He reaches for his jacket and drapes it over himself like a blanket. "Just for a little bit," he says, closing his eyes.

Iwaizumi looks at him, thinks for a moment, then starts to play.

Oikawa recognizes the piece by the second measure and smiles. _He picked something French._ [6]

"You're adding extra notes," he says after the third measure. His words slur together.

 _But it's a nice effect,_ he thinks, and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Piano Concerto No. 5, Op. 73](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPHrwmaZ9-w) (Ludwig van Beethoven) [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Piano Concerto No. 2 in G major, Op. 44](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qROema2MDI) (Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky)[return to text]
> 
> 3 A piano reduction is an entire orchestra's part "reduced" into something a single accompanist can play. But the accompanist still has to know how everything fits together, which is why Yachi has both the solo part and the reduction with her. Oikawa _should_ have noticed that her super detailed notes are in the reduction only, which is a clear sign that she's not actually practicing the solo part... but that's angry and over-competitive Oikawa for you. [return to text]
> 
> 4 [Piano Concerto No. 2 in c minor, op. 18](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_asI5WvGVQs) (Sergei Rachmaninoff)[return to text]
> 
> 5 I don't think the concerto is actually about the Russian Revolution? But it _is_ related to Rachmaninoff's personal experience with depression. For several years, he didn't/couldn't write any music and instead focused on improving his mental health. This concerto is the first piece he composed after that period of time, and it's dedicated to the doctor who helped him recover.  [return to text]
> 
> 6 [Ballade, L. 70](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QsaNaZy3SSA) (Claude Debussy) [return to text]


	6. The silence between movements

_I don't remember what she looks like._

Oikawa feels good about this. It's hard work, avoiding every picture of his mother in online reviews and on CD covers. And that one time (thankfully, the _only_ time) when her face was all over the city on those Tokyo Metropolitan concert ads.

But he's falling, falling deeper into a dream, and he catches a glimpse that dress in seafoam green with the hem that glittered and rippled like real ocean waves.

He sees that dress and hears the opening to the second movement of the second Rachmaninoff, as light and lovely as the spring breeze.

He _remembers._

He wasn't fourteen years old when he first heard her Rachmaninoff—he was _five._

He was five, and they were getting ready to see her play with the symphony.

"Daddy, what does 'second debut' mean?" he'd asked.

His dad said, "The first time 'round, Mommy took over all of Tokyo. This time, she's gonna be queen of the world."

And then his mom laughed. " _Sen_ -pai. Don't put silly ideas in Tooru's head. As soon as I'm good enough to play with you, we'll become the new Golden Pair and take over the _universe_."

That night, she sprinkled faerie dust on everyone when she played her concerto on stage. She must have, because the review in Sunday's paper said she put the audience under her spell.

Everyone was clapping and cheering for her at the end, but he cried _so hard_ and he didn't understand why and it was so, so embarrassing. But she caught his eye between bows, winked at him, and flashed him a peace sign with an impish grin—a mischievous faerie queen in a dress of seafoam amidst an ocean of formal blacks and starched whites. He felt better just like _that_. More magic, obviously. (Plus, his dad told him that other people were crying, too.)

He remembers the face of the woman he worshiped.

 

 

Everything's changed since then. He hasn't seen her in six straight years, and he has no intention of breaking that streak.

But he remembers, now, that this is ( _still, somehow, will always be_ ) his favorite memory.

 

 

The rest of the dream comes in formless blurs. Wintery mornings, going to the movies, sitting backstage with the nice orchestra manager who took care of his mom and dad during rehearsals and concerts. Kindergarten graduation. Bedtime stories.

(The music is agitated, running, scrambling. The cadenza that makes the orchestra fall by the wayside.)

...

Isn't this the very last bedtime story... ?

...

...

_No, no, no, not that. Please._

His eyes fly open.

 

 

 

* * *

 

His eyes sting, and he's not sure if it's because of the music or the blinding morning light. That doesn't really matter, though, because the second movement theme is back. Gentle and sweet and just a little bit heartbreaking.

It feels familiar. A happiness that hurts, just a little.

 

(A distant but wonderful summer day when he actually got to play hide and seek outside with the other kids. He was grumpy and upset when his teacher told him he had to leave for the competition, but he ended up winning first place and Mom was proud and she said Dad would've been too.)

 

_She's not playing Mozart this time, but oh my God, it's her._

The light is blinding. He squints, and his heart stops.

Twice.

Impossible, just like...

 

 

"Oh my God, it's _you_."

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Accelerando

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accelerando: To gradually increase the tempo.

Early morning sunlight from the only window in a strange, small room outlines the angles and curves of a striking silhouette at the piano. Long, powerful fingers find and release the keys, freeing the sounds that were captured within.

For a moment, Oikawa sees bright lights on a stage illuminate  _black_  

 _(Short black hair_  
_the sheen on black leather shoes_  
_the cut of a tailored, black tuxedo against tan skin_  
_polished black keys against ivory white)_

and becomes a listener among hundreds of others, all awestruck by the pianist on stage. For this is a man who, with his presence alone, commands the orchestra and the audience to 

 

 _"Listen_."

 

 

Oikawa thinks—he _knows_ this vision can become reality. It  _has_ to. _This man is born to perform—he wins their hearts without even trying. Keeping him from the stage would be a crime._

 _But God. The Muses of Music. Fate. Whatever. Of all the people at school... no, in the world,_ why _are you giving me Iwaizumi Hajime?_

 

* * *

 

"Hey," Iwaizumi says, scratching his head. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Just needed to play a little."

Something goes _pop!_ in Oikawa's head. His eyes have adjusted to the light, now, and he takes a good look at this pianist, this performer, his one and only soulmate:

He's... Iwaizumi. Currently wearing green boxers, a white t-shirt, and has a couple pieces of (lint?) in his hair. He has a bruise on his right knee and a faded permanent marker drawing of a cartoony skull on his forearm.

_Um._

...

_No no no no no way I mean someone with a little bit of class at least they don't even have to be cute, just not—_

Iwaizumi scrunches his face, examining Oikawa. "Well, you look all right. Jeez... you really freaked me out yesterday, stupid! Why can't you snore or I dunno _breathe_ like a normal person when you sleep? God I thought you were dead—"

_—a guy like this I don't understand how can it be Iwaizumi I mean come on seriously—_

"Seriously, Oikawa. _Oikawa_. Hello? You have a weird dream or something? Are you hungry? Umm..."

Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi, glassy-eyed and dazed. "Ha, ha, you... you play the piano," he says, starting to laugh.

Iwaizumi stares at him, horrified. "Oh my God there _is_ something wrong with you did you hit your head or something  _shit_ where's my phone?"

_I can't believe it was him playing the piano that day though I guess it makes sense did I ever hear him play? A few measures of Liszt, a few measures of Debussy God I need him to play the Mozart. Iwaizumi, though? Really? I suppose it's not impossible, but—_

Oikawa's thoughts overflow into actual words.

"But you're not cute _definitely_ not delicate grumpy as _hell_ 2 out of 3 times I see you _no_ vocabulary whatsoever I mean listen to those weird analogies you make annoying _and_ self-righteous _zero_  taste in food completely unaware OW—WHAT did you just throw at me _is that a volleyball_ why do you have a volleyball?! And what IS this place?"

"Good morning to you too, you jerk. This is my place, and I was just hitting your off button," says Iwaizumi. "And I play volleyball sometimes. Why else would I have one?"

Oikawa can't believe what he's hearing. _Does he have no sense of danger?_ "Why the hell do you play—you'll mess up your fingers!"

"Says the guy who falls asleep on practice room floors," Iwaizumi replies easily. "That's bad for your posture. You'll mess up your neck that way."

_Stupid, self-righteous—_

"Why thank you for the advice," Oikawa taunts. "By the way, _Mother,_ you're looking very manly these days."

Iwaizumi picks up an orange from the floor and winds his arm back. "Say that again, asshole! Should've left you in that practice room, my back's still sore... hey, ' _by the way, Dumbass,'_ did you know you sleep like a fucking octopus? _Oh my God_ getting you off my back onto the futon was a nightmare, I had to tag-team it."

"Ahh!" Oikawa shields his face with his arms. "Did nobody ever tell you _words_ are what civilized people use to communicate? Words, not _fruit._ And what do you mean, tag-team... can't you describe the world with anything _but_ ridiculous and irrelevant phrases? 'Tag-team'? 'People aren't like Pokemon'?"

Iwaizumi points. Oikawa realizes he has his arms and legs wrapped around a giant dinosaur plushie.

"I feel bad for the guy," Iwaizumi says. "He made a noble sacrifice."

"Wh—you—What is this, body substitution? Are you a _ninja?_ " He throws the dinosaur at Iwaizumi, who catches it, checks it for injury, and pats it on the head.

Oikawa is _losing_ it. "And wait a minute I do NOT sleep like an octopus—"

(This is a total lie. He thinks of the 8 pillows—of various sizes and firmnesses depending on his mood that night—on his bed right now. _That stupid dinosaur was just like Pillow 3._ )

"—at least why the hell would I cling onto YOU?!" Oikawa's voice rises to something like a screech by the end of the sentence. 

"Well, if _you hate_ —" Iwaizumi roars. He jumps to his feet and looms over Oikawa on his futon... but all the fight fizzles out of him with two deep breaths and an unreadable look. "Don't fall asleep on the floor, then," he says—tone flat, expression neutral, "if you don't wanna deal with me being 'self-righteous and annoying'. I'm taking a shower, eat whatever you want, your stuff's by the front door, turn the lock on the doorknob when you leave."

"Hey, wait, I didn't mean—" Oikawa scrambles up and off the futon. 

  
_squuuuuush_

  
"Uh." He stepped on... something. It's moist. He doesn't want to look.

Iwaizumi disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a wad of toilet paper for him. "It's just rice porridge. Don't worry about it."

"Excuse me? ... come to think of it, what is that _smell?_ " Oikawa reclaims his foot with a wet _thhhwck_ and takes a good look around the room.

At first glance, it just looked a little cluttered; after all, the main areas—around the piano, the kitchen, a small table—were clear and relatively clean. He didn't think much of it earlier. But now that the whole room is in broad daylight...

There are piles of stuff shoved up against every bit of wall space in this apartment. He sees laundry, balled up pieces of paper, books, something that looks suspiciously like a snare drum (unconfirmed, as it is currently covered in laundry), a few full trash bags, a well-used electric keyboard perched on top of some stacked crates, plus—

" _Please_ tell me you have some sort of terrarium over there and not actual _growth_. Are those _toadstools?!_ " Oikawa would go see for himself, but he's still trying to get all the maybe-rice off his foot.

" _Shut up_  idiot who would have mushrooms growing out of their _laundry?_ Some of the third-graders were doing some ecology thing."

"Okay, yay planet earth, but why do _you_ have it? That's not how urban farming and sustainability works."

"I can't believe you're insulting me when you're not even out of bed yet!"

"I'm only not-out-of-bed because I don't want to get your _disgusting leftover rice on the rest of your floor!_ "

Iwaizumi winces at Oikawa's words. "I don't see a problem," he shrugs, evidently trying to be casual. "All the stuff I _need_ is clean, and I know where everything is, so—"

"Good." Oikawa interrupts. "Go dig out your cleaning supplies."

"What? _No_ what are you—"

" _Cleaning your apartment._ This," Oikawa waves his finger up and down, left and right, "is not okay. It's an affront to humanity. Get me some trash bags, first."

"Oikawa, what the hell—"

"Fine, I'll look for it myself. Probably under that pile of underwear—"

" _Okay!_ Okay!"

 

* * *

 

Oikawa has to admit (not out loud, obviously) that Iwaizumi has a few good qualities. His playing... well, probably, to be determined. He's smart... that is, if he decides something is worth thinking about. He's likable... for some reason Oikawa hasn't figured out yet. And he's physically... _something_ because _Jesus Christ did he seriously carry me here._

_And he's honest. Sincere. Kind of sweet sometimes, even. No caveats there... ugh. So he's probably actually trying really hard right now. But honestly—_

"How can someone be SO! BAD! at cleaning?!" Oikawa yells. "Why did you just run the washing machine when you only put _a pair of socks_ in?! That piece of cheese is NOT recyclable _my God_ it's like you have some sort of inhuman talent—"

_Why am I here why am I doing this why am I holding his laundry and a bottle of bleach_

_Oh, right._

"Stop cleaning," he says. 

"What, so you can yell at me some more?" Iwaizumi grimaces. "No thanks."

"No, um." Oikawa sighs. This isn't really how he planned to confirm the mystery pianist, but since when has anything involving Iwaizumi happened as expected? "Do me a favor, I need to check something. Please?" He puts the bleach down and waves a light gray pair of boxers around like a white flag. "No chemicals. No tricks."

Iwaizumi turns pink. "Okay _fine_ if you stop _give me that_." He reclaims his underwear and throws it somewhere behind him. Oikawa sighs again.

"Mozart. Uh... the twelve variations. K265? Can you play it?" he asks Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi frowns at him (more than usual). "I don't think I know... ?"

_What?_

_It's... not Iwaizumi?_

"You... what? Really? ' _Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman_ '?"

Iwaizumi has a blank sort of look that Oikawa recognizes as his _I can't remember_ face. "Wait, I thought Mozart was from Germany?"

"Austria," Oikawa corrects. And then he remembers who he's dealing with: _It's not like you need to know the title in order to play the piece._ He climbs over a small mountain of cardboard boxes to the piano, plays a few measures of the piece, looks at Iwaizumi—

"Oh! That. Yeah. The kids love that one." Iwaizumi plops down on the bench next to Oikawa and starts to play.

 

* * *

 

The theme is simple.[1] A children's song—plain, even quarter notes on the page. Unremarkable, boring even. Just left, right, left, right, walking a dozen steps from here to there.

(Two little kids, holding hands on their first kindergarten field trip, trying to walk properly and quietly "like gentlemen should," the teacher had said. But they're yanking on each other's arms and tripping each other—the teacher scowls at them, and they press their lips flat and hold their breaths until she looks away. Then they practically _explode_ with laughter—)

_This isn't my memory. Is it yours?_

_... why does it feel like it's you and me?_

"Incredible," Oikawa whispers.

Next comes the first variation, what Oikawa heard that day in the recital hall. But it's different, this time—the notes dance around them like cool, light raindrops on a sunny day.

He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. _Why are you here? You could be touring Europe if you wanted to, playing like this. Don't you understand? The world needs to hear you._

Iwaizumi has his lips pressed in a thin line, and he's glaring at the piano like it's making him angry. But the music _sparkles_ now, the raindrops reflecting the sunlight and glittering in midair. More rain, more brilliance, more, more—

 _Oi, oi. You're playing too many notes again,_ Oikawa wants to say. But he can't bring himself to interrupt. The music's turning from light summer rain into those kids jumping out of a tree into a lake, trying to see who can make the biggest splash.

It's wrong, honestly. It's _fun_.

Oikawa laughs, out loud this time.

Iwaizumi flinches and stops playing. He reaches over to flick Oikawa on the forehead, but their eyes meet and he stops halfway.

"You're not laughing at me," he says, confused.

"What? No, of course not!" Oikawa smiles and reaches for Iwaizumi's hands, holding them in his own. "Don't you get it? How amazing you are?"

"W-w-what _no_ , you're the one who's... you're the one who said not to say 'amazing'!" Iwaizumi turns bright red. He tries to pull back; Oikawa holds on with an even tighter grip, tugs Iwaizumi towards him instead.

"Play for me," Oikawa says. He leans into Iwaizumi's space, feels the heat radiating from him. "Play _with_ me. Be my accompanist for the competition. And maybe we'll do a recital afterwards, just us, there's some good four-hands stuff I've been meaning to try—"

"D-Don't be stupid," Iwaizumi stutters. He looks away. "I can't do any of that stuff."

Oikawa's laughing again, a light and airy sound he barely recognizes. It feels right. "You're joking. _Of course_ you can. I mean, we'll need to start rehearsing right away, but—"

_Bzzzzzztttt_

Iwaizumi _wrenches_  his hands away and lunges for his phone. "H-hello? Oh, morning, Takeda-sensei. ... ... ..."

He drops it.

 _What?_ Oikawa mouths. Iwaizumi looks terrified.

"Yes _oh God_ yeah, no, I'm fine I'll be there in fifteen minutes... yes. ... Right. ... ... I'm sorry, really, ah, okay. S-see you then."

"Takeda? What, something up with studio class?" Oikawa asks.

"It's 10:15."

Studio class _ended_ almost an hour ago.

"What?! We've been doing this for _four hours?!_ I have a huge meeting with Takinoue in 15 minutes!" Oikawa squawks. It's basically an evaluation—he's supposed to report on all the tutoring he's done so far this year.

"My lesson started 15 minutes ago," Iwaizumi wheezes. He looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

"Shit. Okay. Can I use your shower? I'll be, like, two minutes," Oikawa says.

"Yeah, yeah. I need to get my stuff together anyway, d'you want a sandwich or—"

"Not the time, Iwaizumi!"

 

* * *

 

Something feels a little off, Oikawa thinks, when they get to school.

"Why's everyone staring at us?" Iwaizumi hisses. "I think I hear random people saying my name."

"People stare at _me_ all the time to get a taste of my elegance and poise," replies Oikawa. "... But okay, maybe it's because my hair's still wet," he admits. "The better question is, why are people paying attention to _you?_  Did you miss a button on your shirt or something?"

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "Shut up. You tell me."

They try to be discreet when they look at each other.

"Don't see anything weirder than usual 'bout you," Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa snorts. "Of course. As for you... if anything, you're actually a little less frumpy than usual."

"What d'you mean, 'frumpy'?!" Iwaizumi snaps. "Not everyone can look perfect all the time, you asshole." He starts speedwalking ahead of Oikawa.

_Huh?_

"Hey! What do you mean—" Oikawa takes bigger steps, tries to catch up—

Iwaizumi grits his teeth. "Not now! I'm leaving! Bye!"

 

* * *

 

Oikawa sees Mina and Yachi walking towards him down the hallway. His breath catches for a moment, though it's not like he needs to talk to Yachi anymore... and _honestly do I even need to be angry? If I have Iwaizumi, she doesn't stand a chance—_

_(He's mine. She can't have him.)_

_... What?_

"OH MY GOD." Mina throws her arm out, blocking Yachi's way.

_Ugh. What._

"... hello..." Oikawa says, not knowing who to look at or how to react. _God. Don't tell me I'm losing my touch around women._

Mina starts howling with laughter—

_Jesus Christ is she a mindreader?_

—then grabs Yachi and runs off.

Oikawa sighs. This cat and mouse thing really needs to stop. Okay, yeah, he's still pissed. But there's no point in competing if he's holding onto Yachi's music and basically not letting her practice. _Maybe I should just give Iwaizumi the music after all..._

"Yo!" Hanamaki pops out of a practice room. "Heard ya hooked up with your boy. _Finally._ "

Oikawa finds his aloof-though-mildly-amused laugh. "That joke's getting o~ld, Makki! Tsk tsk. Shame on you for your lack of creativity."

"Not 'o~ld' according to the rest of the school." Hanamaki dangles his phone in front of Oikawa like a carrot on a string.

"What?!" Oikawa _swipes_ for the phone and misses.

"Nu-uh! good little boys keep their hands to themselves." Hanamaki grins like the Cheshire cat. "Juicy news from El Concerto Master-o himself."

Oikawa rolls his eyes (and tries to be inconspicuous when he lets out a sigh of relief.) "So it's just crap that _chicken-haired asshole_ is spewing. He's not—"

"Oh,there is _hard evidence_ , my friend." Hanamaki explains. "People are saying both of you missed studio class—which you've never missed, apparently, good for you—and came in together _and you're wearing THAT._ Even Runa-chan put two and two together, and she's all cute and pure and whatever."

"Who—" _Ugh. Irrelevant._ Oikawa looks down at what he's wearing.

_..._

The only thing he recognizes is his shoes. Corduroy pants... no. Just no. And he's not even sure _what sport_ the team logo on this sweatshirt is for.

_Oh my God I hate everything why did I_

"You know the good ol' walk of shame would've been less noticeable, right?" Hanamaki points out. "No one gives a shit if you get some, but when it's  _oooh_ , yep, Mina-chan just confirmed that your clothes definitely belong to Iwaizumi."

"How the hell do you know Mina— _ugggghhhhh_ never mind."

After a good laugh, Hanamaki sees the look on Oikawa's face and puts his phone away. "Sorry, sorry. That's not why I wanted to talk to you anyway, I have a legit question about rehearsal. My trio."

"Wow. Actual music talk in a music school," Oikawa says with 110% sarcasm. "Who knew it could happen. What is it?"

"It's something I noticed about Iwaizumi's playing."

This gets Oikawa's attention.  _Does Makki see it too? Can Iwaizumi play like that in an ensemble? God he'll be an amazing accompanist then—_

Hanamaki scratches his chin. "Well, for a guy who looks like that, Iwaizumi's actually really good with the delicate passages. Sensitive, you know?"

Oikawa nods. He knows that from the Mozart.

"But once he gets really into it, he's kind of a hot mess. I mean, he sounds like he's having fun, but he's _loud_ and he's, like,  _all over_ the place."

"Uh, okay?"  _Guess he improvises in the trio, too. Could be a problem._

"So I'm wondering," Hanamaki continues, "is that how he is when you two fu—"

"Go _DIE_ , Makki." Oikawa slams the door in his face.

 

* * *

 

A few days later.

_Thwap!_

Iwaizumi smacks the top of Oikawa's head with the Beethoven.

"Hell no, I'm not letting you off that easy," he says. "You're why Yachi's been freaked out all this time, _you_ fix whatever the hell you did."

"Ow! I didn't do anything, she's the one—"

The glare Oikawa gets from Iwaizumi is motivation enough for him to drop the subject. Time for some strategy.

"Okay, fine. If you won't give her the music, then you have to play it. Unless," he pouts. "you want to be the reason why I can't compete..."

Iwaizumi shoves the music into Oikawa's chest. "You sneaky..." he grumbles, then starts walking away, almost running. "For the hundredth time, no! I'm not gonna be your accompanist!"

Oikawa matches him step for step. "But we'd be so good together!"

"No way. Can't be done."

"I'll even play for you if you want," Oikawa offers. "God knows I'm the only person who can keep up with your ridiculous improv—

"What is _wrong_ with you don't insult people when you're asking them for a favor, dumbass!" Iwaizumi takes off running.

"Hey, I said wait!" 

"Here we stand witness," a voice says over some depressing violin music,[2] "to the tragic, tragic end of their short-lived romance—"

"Kuroo shut the fuck up don't play in the hallway and don't _soundtrack_ me!" Oikawa yells, running past him. But he pauses for a minute, listens—"And _tune your stupid violin_ your E's flat!" He disappears around the corner.

"Huh." Kuroo plucks the string. "So it is. That guy sure loves being right."

 

* * *

   
Yachi has never been this upset at herself. She knows it's wrong, using her missing scores as an excuse—'I can't go talk to Oikawa-senpai if I don't have the music to accompany him with.' But she can't bring herself to do anything else.

She's lost in her thoughts until she notices a man doubled over by the stairwell in the otherwise empty hallway. He's bent at the waist, head and back rising and falling with heavy, labored breaths. One of his hands has a tight grip on the railing, and the other braces his knee.

"Umm..." she says, approaching in small, tentative steps. "Excuse me, are you okay?"

The man looks up. "Yachi-san," he says.

"Eeeeee! Oikawa-senpai! I should, um—" _Run away! Run away!_ her mind yells. _... But what if he's really injured?_ She settles for keeping a safe distance between them. "Are you hurt? Should I get someone—" 

He flaps a hand at her. "No, no, 'm fine. Just, here." He manages to take off his backpack and get her music.

She recoils. "You... you know? T-that I'm playing."

Oikawa frowns. "What else would you be doing?"

"I'm sorry!" She drops to her knees and bows her head until it touches the floor. "I should've said earlier so but I thought you, your fans, you've been so mad—"

"That's... really not necessary. Please. I don't really get what my fans have to do with anything, but I'm not mad." Oikawa sighs. "At least not any more. I just have to work harder, that's all."

 _I can't believe I made him feel guilty about something that's my fault..._ Yachi sits up. "No, I'm the one who needs to! I still don't think I could ever catch up to you, but maybe, maybe I can at make it up to—"

Oikawa sits down on the floor, too, runs a hand through his hair, looks at her with a trace of a smile. "What do you mean, 'I still don't think I could catch up to you.' Have a little pride, hm? You're my opponent, after all."

_... opponent?_

The next few moments are a blur of sound and sensation.

A noise, some sort of strange thudding and rumbling getting louder and louder.

Voices that say, "Shiiiiit we're so late, Sensei's gonna be pissed." And, "Forget him, _Kuroo's_ gonna kill us. Come on!"

Then "Hey, _LOOK OUT!"_

Yachi's confused when Oikawa's face loses all color in an instant, shocked when everything stops making sense, feels someone tackle her, then—nothing.

No, not nothing—her stomach lurches. It feels like someone's hitting her legs over and over. She can't see—her face is pressed in someone's chest—and she hears a faraway scream.

 

* * *

 

"Careful! Stay back! There's someone under!" Kuroo says. He and Hanamaki exchange a nod before they both _pull_. Together, they drag the timpani up the stairs.

Oikawa breathes a little more easily, now that a giant drum isn't wedged in the space above him... though he could do without the crowd of people at the top of the stairs pointing and gasping at him.

"What, haven't ever seen two people get knocked down half a flight of stairs by a timpani before?" he mutters to himself.

Something squirms in his arms— _oh, right, good thing she's tiny_ —and he lets Yachi go. She takes one look at him and bursts into tears.

"Oikawa, Oikawa-senpai, are you, why did you, you, you weren't even anywhere near me—"

"Show me your hands," Oikawa says.

She quiets down, sniffles, tilts her head.

"Your _hands_ , Yachi-san," he commands. She meeps and holds them out; he starts flexing her fingers one by one and twisting her wrists.

When he bends one of her thumbs back, she bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut. _Shit,_ Oikawa thinks.

"Jesus fuck!" Hanamaki rushes down the stairs, almost tumbling down himself. "Oikawa it was you?! Are you okay?"

"Makki, my hero." Oikawa breathes a little laugh. "Can you call Nee-san—"

"Yeah, yeah of course."

"—and tell her to see if that clinic's taking anyone right now, the one I went to last year. She'll know."

"What? Did you mess up your wrists?!" Hanamaki asks. Oikawa points at Yachi.

She waves both hands in front of her to gesture 'no'. "Wh—but Oikawa-san! Your head!" she protests. "And does your back hurt? Your legs?"

Oikawa waves her off. "Just a headache. I've had hangovers worse than this. But if that," he points at Yachi, "turns into a permanent injury I swear to God I'll murder those bottom-feeding percussionists. Makki. Now."

Hanamaki clears his throat. "IF YOUR HEAD'S OKAY, IT'S COOL IF I TALK LIKE THIS, RIGHT?"

Oikawa curls up in a ball and covers his ears. "I hate you sometimes," he says into his knees.

"Yeah, okay, I'm definitely telling her about you too." Hanamaki shakes his head and finds a quiet corner for the phone call.

Less than five minutes later, a dark-haired, middle-aged man hurries down the stairs. "Tooru, what in the world did you do this time..."

"Oh, good, Nee-san sent someone sensible. Not me, Irihata-san, her." Oikawa points at Yachi. "Now go. Shoo, shoo, both of you."

The man sighs, helps Yachi up with a gentle but firm grip, and leads her away.

"You... might regret sending Irihata-san away," Hanamaki says.

"TOORUUUUU!" It's a woman's voice, and it gets louder, and louder, and—

Oikawa glares at Hanamaki. "You _didn't_."

"I'm sorry! Nee-san said she was the only person you'd listen to."

Oikawa hears the _clack-clack-clack_ of stilettos on tiled floor and braces himself.

Whispered gossip erupts.

"She's not Japanese, is she?"  
"Is she Oikawa's mom?!"  
"She looks like she's gonna kill someone."  
"If I had a mom like that, I'd be too scared to suck at the piano."

The crowd falls silent, making way for the unknown woman in a sharp business suit. She has long, sandy hair, wears glasses, and is, as Oikawa learned a long time ago, a walking, multilingual dictionary of expletives and profanities.

"Hello, Elise," he groans.

"Don't you 'hello' me, you ass-faced shit-headed imbecile—" she switches from Japanese to French, then German, yelling and jabbing him in the chest over and over with a well-manicured finger.

Without warning, she turns around, takes out her phone, and snaps a picture of the students watching the scene.

"You might want to delete those pictures and videos before something happens to your phones. Pardon the intrusion," she says, and pulls Oikawa away by his ear.

 

* * *

 

"But Oikawa-senpai..."

"Yachi-san," Oikawa says, trimming his fingernails and looking bored in the hospital bed. "I'm only going to say this one more time: I'm only in pain because of that wild boar woman, all I'm doing is bringing you to a doctor, and I don't want to win when you can't play your best. That's all there is to it."

This is Oikawa Tooru, Yachi thinks. It's not just about winning for him, it's winning with an amazing performance, and for that she needs to be a capable accompanist. _I really can't drag him down, now._

 _Especially not after bringing me here...!_ School physicals aside, Yachi has never needed to go to a doctor for anything. But she's pretty sure normal hospitals and clinics don't send two different doctors to examine a simple wrist sprain. Or serve meals with proper place settings or have queen-sized beds.

"That said," Oikawa lies back with a lazy grin, "there's no question. I'm going to win, because Iwaizumi will be my accompanist."

_... what?_

"You get it too, right? How incredible his playing is? And it works out perfectly. They never gave me an accompanist this year."

Yachi's breath catches in her throat. _Oh, no. I really need to tell him. There's already a misunderstanding. I can clear it up now—_

_(But is it so bad for Iwaizumi-san to take my place?)_

She picks at the medical tape on her wrist.

_I'm only a substitute for Oikawa-san's regular accompanist anyway. It's better for everybody if he works with someone he wants to work with... right?_

She doesn't say anything.  
_But I should._  
She sneaks a peek at Oikawa. He looks confident. Satisfied.  
_I should still tell him._  
She doesn't think she can.  
_But—_  

"Hey!" Hanamaki comes in, tossing Oikawa a can of coffee and offering Yachi some candy. "You two need to message Iwaizumi, or call him, preferably like, ten minutes ago."

"What about?" Oikawa asks.

Yachi seizes Hanamaki's arm. "Wait what _what_ happened to Iwaizumi-senpai?!" 

Hanamaki closes his eyes and shakes his head. "The poor sap's already stuck being friends with  _both_ of you, God help him, and then he hears you're almost crushed by a giant drum? I canceled trio rehearsal because he's playing like he saw someone abandon a basket of kittens. _In the rain._ Runa-chan said it made her think of her dead hamster."

Oikawa frowns. "But we're not really frien—" 

Hanamaki starts throwing M&Ms at Oikawa's face. Yachi, in the middle of typing something to Iwaizumi, looks at him like she's about to cry.

"Ugh. Yachi-san, could you let him know that I'm— _Makki_ stop looking at me like that, he'll be fine once he hears she's all right."

Yachi bites her lip and looks at Hanamaki. He shakes his head.  _Go ahead,_ he waves.

 _Maybe Oikawa-san will figure it out if they start playing together,_ Yachi thinks, and makes her decision.

 

* * *

  
Something changes after the timpani incident. Not Oikawa; he's still trying to ask Iwaizumi to accompany him every chance he gets. But Iwaizumi's started to completely _avoid_  him, not just refusing or running away. 

Oikawa has his resources, though, and he finds out Iwaizumi's been using a basement classroom—the same one—to practice at least once a week. So he finds room B132 and freezes when he hears  _two_ voices.

_So he IS accompanying someone! How dare he turn me down but play for—who?_

_Not like I care._

_Right? It's whatever, as long as he plays for me, too._

He recognizes Iwaizumi's voice, first: "Was it really  _that_ bad?" he asks.

The other voice... a man's voice, and it sounds sort of familiar? "No, it was good, but Iwaizumi you're _killing_ me! You absolutely can _not_ take a _three minute solo_ for a 90-second head. Definitely not tonight, unless you want Nishinoya to beat you to death."

They laugh. Now Oikawa's even more confused. He's almost positive there's no one with that name at this school.

"From the top?" the unknown (?) voice suggests. "And this time I'm going first, you hog," he chuckles. "... and-a-1-2-3-4—"

The piano hops in with a light, bouncy rhythm on top of a soft walking bass. Oikawa listens, and he _gets_ it, now. He shakes his head, a bit exasperated it took him this long: this is Iwaizumi through and through. A steady and reliable base, accented by a unique, surprising mix of energy and charisma. 

The other player joins in.

_Alto sax... and he's good._ They're playing Autumn Leaves, [3] an old standard that every jazz musician knows...  _But this person plays like he has the music in his bones._

_Is he another Iwaizumi? Somebody incredible no one's ever heard?_

Oikawa doesn't know jazz very well, but he does figure out a lot about the saxophone player by listening to him for a few more phrases. This isn't another Iwaizumi, first of all. For his solo, he chooses scales that are "correct," textbook ones that fit into the chord progression. He knows his theory well.

And there's no flash or flair in his playing—he's methodical, maybe even a little boring. But here, in a duet, he shines by letting go—setting up little gaps in his solo to let Iwaizumi respond; relinquishing some of his moments in the limelight for the sake of _good_ music.

It's not the type of solo that makes everyone else sound like background music. It's more like old friends having a chat—comfortable, familiar, each knowing when to pause and when to jump in without talking over each other..

Oikawa leans back against the door, closes his eyes, and listens. He smiles for the first time today.

It's Iwaizumi's turn, but instead of a piano solo Oikawa hears two sharp knocks on the door from inside.

_Wh—_

"Hey you, I still have cupcakes left from studio if you want any!" The voice says through the door. "Come on, I'm bribing you to listen to us, so get in here already."

Oikawa whips around, opens the door, blinks.

_Huh._

He's met by a friendly face and a vanilla cupcake with strawberry frosting. The scene makes him laugh a little—he can't help it.

"Are you _really_ always this refreshing, Sugawara?"

 

* * *

 

"The best thing about playing piano is that you can eat during rehearsal." Sugawara drinks from his water bottle with a sigh, while Iwaizumi and Oikawa each grab their second cupcake. The two of them don't say a word to each other.

"So how does this work?" Oikawa asks. "Are you double majoring?"

Sugawara laughs. "Oh, no, I'm not that ambitious. I really came here for Ukai-sensei—the younger one—because he's the only teacher in the city who teaches how to arrange music, not just compose. Piano's my worst instrument, to be honest, but it's the most useful for what I want to do."

Iwaizumi adds, "Pretty much everyone in ed who's working with a band or orchestra uses something Suga arranged. Kids are into that, you know, playing something from a movie soundtrack or something, and not playing 'boring classical stuff' all the time."

Oikawa smirks. "I hope you're not playing jazz because of all the 'boring classical stuff' we play here," he jokes.

"Haha, well, that's exactly what I thought in high school," Sugawara admits. "So I switched from clarinet to saxophone and started a band with some of my friends."

"I'm just playing because it's fun," Iwaizumi says.

Sugawara rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay, that's what you're saying _now_ , but," he addresses Oikawa, "I've been trying to get Iwaizumi to play with us since our first year. He kept saying some 'can't play that kind of thing properly' and 'I can't figure this stuff out' nonsense—"

Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a pointed look.

"—but he finally pulled some confidence out of his butt a few weeks ago and decided to come to the dark side," Sugawara grins. "Dumb joke, sorry. We're called the Black Crows."

Iwaizumi doesn't meet Oikawa's eye. "We're playing at that really sketchy bar behind the park tonight. You should come," he says.

"... How enticing," Oikawa says. "I'll think about it."

"And when I say 'we're playing'," Iwaizumi says to Sugawara, "I mean 'not you' because man, _you_ really need to sleep. Heard you're still giving Runa-chan extra lessons, where do you even find time for that?"

"No, no," Sugawara waves him off. "I _like_ teaching her. I just wish I was better at the clarinet-specific stuff. And I'm no good at coaching ensembles either, that's Daichi's thing."

"Makki's Runa-chan?" Oikawa asks. "Your trio?" He turns to Sugawara. "Why are you her teacher?"

"Her actual teacher doesn't let first or second years play chamber music," Sugawara explains. "And he's not even here most of the year 'cause he coaches at festivals all over Europe."

Oikawa has his suspicions about this clarinet teacher; it's the other part of Sugawara's explanation that surprises him.

"Teachers can _do_ that here?" he frowns. "That can't be right, isn't that like a store kicking out paying customers?"

Sugawara looks away. "It's awful, but that happens too. In other places, for different reasons, but."

Oikawa's never been banned or restricted from anything at this school. He had no reason to think otherwise for the other students, but now...

"The worst part is," Sugawara continues, "it's because he doesn't think the younger students are skilled or experienced enough for him to deal with. But how is a student supposed to get skills and experience if they don't even get a chance? It's an _insult_ to all teachers."

 _An insult to all musicians,_ Oikawa thinks. _A blanket ban based on age?_   _What if someone told me 'no' when I started competing?_

He remembers what second grade was like. _That was... a bad time. I probably would've quit._

"So it's mostly Takeda-san helping us," says Iwaizumi, "and he's been trying to talk to that clarinet teacher too, but, _damn it,_  it sucks, because she's good, Hanamaki's good, and it's _fun_ when the three of us actually get it right." He laughs a little. "The problem is that we don't really ever get it right at the same time..."

The situation doesn't sit well with Oikawa at all.

(Neither does the bitterness in Iwaizumi's voice.)

"We should get back to it," Sugawara says. "I think there's a class in here in 20 minutes."

Oikawa nods. "Right, yeah. Thanks for the cupcakes, Refreshing-kun."

"Hey. See you tonight?" Iwaizumi asks.

"... Maybe," is all Oikawa says before he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Once Oikawa goes back upstairs and gets reception on his phone, he scrolls to the number listed as "Wild Boar Woman."

"I changed my mind, I'll play at that church. ... ... what do you mean 'what's the catch' _that is so rude._ ... _Okayfineyes_  I need a favor... ... You know, Elise, you laugh like a shitty supervillain."

_(What is wrong with you don't insult people when you're asking them for a favor, dumbass!)_

"... Huh? What? ... I was _not_  spacing out,damn it. Will you help me or not?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Twelve Variations on "Ah vous dirai-je, Maman", K. 265/300e](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BTvoqVK420) (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) Same as chapter 1, the theme is the first 40-ish seconds and the variation is right after.[return to text]
> 
> 2 [Vocalise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwGmHZ8XgeU) (Sergei Rachmaninoff) [return to text]
> 
> 3 [Autumn Leaves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBACGYh7mRo) (Joseph Kosma) [return to text]


	8. Two tone poems: I. Jazz at the bar on Friday night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tone poem: A musical composition (or part of one) that tells and illustrates a specific story.

The bar, with its duct-taped windows, flickering neon "OP N" sign, and that random sofa with torn cushions by the front door  _definitely_ looks sketchy. Oikawa's not looking forward to hanging around the people who actually want to go here.

But inside, the bar tells a different story. He sees warm, oak-paneled walls decorated by old maps and sepia-toned photographs. It's an older crowd than what he's used to, but it's pleasant—calmer, less noisy, nobody's drunk off their ass and puking in the bathroom.The bartender reminds him of his high school math teacher. The patrons have a similar feel—just regular people relaxing after a long week at work.

The tables and floor are kind of grungy, and that moose mounted above the bathroom door is tacky as hell... but the beer mugs are generously sized, and the craving-inducing aroma of fried _everything_ wafts from the kitchen nonstop. There's some sort of darts tournament going on in the far corner, and it's accompanied by the second Rachmaninoff piano concerto.

 _What_.

Oikawa squeezes through groups of people and jostles his way closer to the music; the place is getting crowded. And of course, _of course_ it's Iwaizumi at the piano. Iwaizumi who happens to be looking right at Oikawa _right now_ , wearing a frown that's really just two millimeters away from becoming a mischievous smirk.

And then he commits classical music blasphemy.

_What is he DOING_

Oikawa hears the orchestra's theme from the Rachmaninoff hop around on tiptoes and chase its next phrase 'round and 'round in circles. Forget old Russian folk songs—this is background music for a slapstick comedy from the silent film days.[1]

The crowd loves it. A few couples start dancing, while others start clapping along. There's even a request: "Do the third next!"

_... someone here knows this is Rachmaninoff?_

"All right," Iwaizumi calls over his shoulder. "If you can teach it to me in the next five minutes!"

He's laughing, the dancers are laughing—everybody now, including Oikawa, infected by the upbeat and cheerful atmosphere.

"Just like 1920s New York. Pretty cool, right?"

"Oh, if it isn't Refre—" _Ow, fuck!_ Something presses into his tympani-incident bruise on the back of his arm, and he feels sharp pain that drills all the way through to his bicep.

"Oikawa, what are you doing here." Sugawara says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His hand is wrapped around Oikawa's upper arm in a tight grip, though he's not pressing into the bruise anymore.

"The hell? Get _off_ me—" Oikawa demands. "You told me to come!"

"Iwaizumi did," Sugawara corrects. "I can't believe you're still messing around with his feelings."

_What?_

"When have I ever—"

Sugawara shifts his hand and presses Oikawa's arm with his thumb.  
Right on the bruise.

 _Fuck. Ow. Does he know?_ It seemed like a coincidence earlier, but...

"Talk," Sugawara says. He pulls his thumb away but keeps Oikawa rooted in place with a tight grip. "Why are you here? Why are you following Iwaizumi around school? Why are you so interested in him all of a sudden?"

"Wh—if you must know, I'm trying to make him my accompanist."

"Doesn't look that way to him or to everyone watching. You're either the biggest asshole in the world, or you're just an oblivious piece of shit. Either way, you're fucking with one of my friends, and that's a problem."

Oikawa's caught off guard, too surprised by this behavior and language from the usually mild-mannered Sugawara to be angry. "Look, I don't know what you _think_ you know—"

"Hey, you came."

"Iwaizumi." Oikawa's voice is dry. He tries not to sound too relieved.

Iwaizumi slips his hand around Oikawa's other arm to give it a light squeeze. "Wasn't totally sure that lost-looking idiot wandering around was you." 

Oikawa's arms feel like they belong to different people. He focuses on Iwaizumi's hand lingering on his left to stop himself from reacting to the pain from Sugawara on his right.

"Wasn't doing anything tonight," he says. "More importantly, what the hell did you do to the Rach 2?"

"Damn it, Oikawa." Iwaizumi throws his hands up in defeat. "I knew you'd be all uptight about it! I thought it was fun, everyone seemed to like it, but of course you—"

"I never said I didn't like it," Oikawa laughs. For once, he hopes Iwaizumi doesn't think it sounds fake. "Play it for me later? I want to see what you're doing with your left hand, those intervals... I think you actually made the concerto harder than it already is."

Iwaizumi blushes a little. "Shut up. It sounds way better with the big jumps. Plus. The people here like that kind of style, they say it's easier to dance to."

 _Ah,_ Oikawa thinks. _Another side of Iwaizumi: going to great lengths for someone else. For friends, for members of the audience—"_

 _For me,_ his brain supplies against his will. He bites his lip.

Sugawara looks back and forth between the two of them, lets go, then leaves.

 

* * *

 

Some of the other musicians arrive and start setting up on stage... though 'stage' might be a generous word. It's really a small platform built from shipping pallets, lit by a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and flanked by two stacked towers of mismatched speakers.

 _Those look like they'll fall over as soon as any sound comes out of them,_ Oikawa thinks.

Iwaizumi points them out for Oikawa. "Sawamura on tenor sax, he's Sugawara's boyfriend. Azumane on bass, and Nishinoya on drums. They all went to high school together, but now those two are working, and Sawamura's an engineering student somewhere."

Sugawara taps the microphone. "Hey, hello everybody. Thanks for coming out."

There are cheers of _Suga!_ and people cawing like crows from the crowd.

"Gotta go," Iwaizumi whispers, smiling a smile Oikawa doesn't want to look at.

 _I need a drink,_ Oikawa thinks.

"The thing about my school," Sugawara says, "is there are all of these amazing pianists. Me, for example—I'm so great that I never show my skills to the public."

This earns him a good bit of laughter plus one or two "Prove it!"s.

"Then there's Iwaizumi, our newest member—"

Oikawa listens to the crowd. _He's as popular as Refr—okay, Sugawara needs a new nickname._

"—but did you know, my friends, that there are actually three genius pianists at the Momogaoka Conservatory of Music? Yes, the Crows are bringing you a _third_ tall drink of water tonight with the musical stylings of one Oikawa Tooru."

A spotlight beams on Oikawa ( _why does this place have a spotlight?!)_. He spits out a mouthful of gin.

"Someone buy the kid another drink!" a woman yells.

"No, I really don't—" he protests, but Sugawara cuts him off.

"The thing about Oikawa, folks, is that he's one of the most shy and modest people I know. So let's help him out a little."

People start clapping and nudging him towards the stage.

Iwaizumi looks like he's in shock. Sugawara grins his usual grin, which Oikawa now associates with _pure evil_. Nishinoya is laughing so hard he almost falls off his stool, and Azumane is frantically whispering something to Sawamura.

"What the fuck do you want me to do up here?!" Oikawa hisses at Sugawara.

Sawamura steps in. "Suga, isn't this a little much?"  
At the same time, Iwaizumi says, "Seriously, Sugawara, maybe some other time."

"No, no," Sugawara smiles. "Don't worry. You guys don't know how good Oikawa really is. Trust me." He hands Oikawa a thick, spiral-bound book. "Extra copy of my music, since Iwaizumi doesn't have any."

Oikawa doesn't even take it. "I'm flattered you think I can transpose while I'm playing."[2]

"Well, you _are_ Oikawa Tooru," Sugawara says, shrugging. "I have extras of Daichi's music if Bb is easier."

"I hate everything about you," Oikawa says.

"But he doesn't have to if he uses mine—" Azumane begins, but he withdraws into terrified silence when he sees the look Sugawara gives him.

"What'll it be, Oikawa?" Sugawara asks.

Sawamura frowns at him, then turns to Oikawa. "Hey, you really don't have to—"

"I get to pick what we play, whether it's in your book or not. No questions asked." Oikawa's in too far now. He won't back down.

Sugawara purses his lips. "... all right. As long as we know it."

Oikawa takes out his phone and tries not to look frantic when he desperately Googles for what he needs.

"Why can't people save their files as pdfs, stupid," Oikawa grumbles to himself. But, a moment later, his face brightens—

"'Take Five',"[3] he says. "If Sawamura doesn't mind." There's no tenor saxophone part; Sawamura would have to sit out.

"No, that's good actually." Sawamura nods. "I'll stand by and jump in if you have problems with your solo."

Oikawa both appreciates the sentiment and feels a little bit offended that Sawamura thinks he'll mess up.

_Well, I will. I'm not some genius... But I can't afford to think that way. This is a performance; I can't let anyone else think like that, either._

He sets his phone on the music stand, frowns a little— _this is like an eye exam_ , he thinks. _I can barely read—_

Something hard pokes Oikawa's ribs.

"Ow, hey—"

Iwaizumi hands him a tablet. "Borrowed it from Yachi for studying. You should—"

_Oh my God thank you you wonderful human being_

Oikawa keeps his mouth shut and pulls up the same site on the tablet. "Will you turn pages, er, scroll pages for me?" he asks Iwaizumi.

"Okay, yeah," Iwaizumi replies. "But... what is it?" He looks through what Oikawa found online—it's several pages of handwritten sheet music.

"Full transcription," Oikawa replies. "Someone wrote out every single note for the piano part, solo included."

"Oh, so you don't need to improvise, I get it. But have you played this before?"

"Nope. This is like the taking the worst sightreading exam in the universe," Oikawa laughs. "Wish me luck." He ignores the odd look Iwaizumi gives him—it's only making him more nervous—and signals that he's ready to play.

The drums sets the tempo, alone at first, and then the piano and bass join him to establish the full accompaniment. Even without the melody, the audience recognizes what they're playing and cheers. _Good start_ , Oikawa thinks. _It never hurts to have the house on your side._

Soon, it's time for the star of the show: the alto sax. Sugawara winks at Oikawa and starts to play.

It's a low-key, laid-back melody. The tempo is manageable, plus the piano part is easy and repetitive. But he can't help but think Sugawara looks and sounds a little bit smug right now—

_No, I'm just imagining things._

Instead, he focuses on how in-sync the drums and bass are with each other—it makes blending in with them much easier than he'd expected. They soon settle into a comfortable groove.

...

 _Too_ comfortable, because there's nothing else going on. No melody, no solo. Just piano, drums, and bass playing the same thing over and over.

And Sugawara is just standing there, looking at him and smiling.

"It's getting kinda boring without a solo," he says.

"Yeah, so one of you," Oikawa grits through his teeth. _Damn it, playing and talking is hard._  "Can take one already!"

Sugawara shrugs. "Don't feel like it. Noya, how about you?"

Nishinoya shrugs, too. "You guys do your thing, Suga-san, I'm just here to keep the ball rolling. And Asahi's no good for a solo right now, I think you scared him too much earlier."

"Ughhhhh fine," Oikawa groans. He wonders if he can find a way to kill Nishinoya too. "Iwaizumi..."

"Yeah, I'm ready. You'll be good. You're always good when things are tough, right?"

Oikawa doesn't look away from the music. "You don't know that... but thanks. Here goes."

 

* * *

 

It's not pretty. Oikawa has never made this many mistakes in front of other people before—not even a teacher. The notes catch him off guard; some of them just don't make musical sense to him until _after_ he plays them.

Still, Sugawara's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head when he realizes what Oikawa is doing. He shakes his head, laughs into his hand, and says something like, "Well, he _is_ Oikawa Tooru."

The satisfaction of seeing Sugawara's surprise and (sort-of) defeat keeps Oikawa going for a while, but he starts wearing down; he can't keep up with the tempo Sugawara set earlier anymore. _Not good_ , he finds himself thinking. _If I drag, I'll tear the sound apart. How long is this damn thing?_  

And then he hears his savior.

 _Somebody here has a heart, thank goodness—_ the bass is slowing down with him. When it's piano and bass against drums, two against one, Nishinoya has no choice but to adjust to their slower beat.

Half a page left, then two lines left. Oikawa does his best to wrap things up—tries to make it obvious that he's finished so that people start clapping and Sugawara can't make him keep playing.

But it looks like he didn't need to worry. The bass starts his solo right after his, bailing him out once again.

 _Azumane Asahi. He sounds good even without an amp,_ Oikawa thinks. That's not easy to do; the nature of a stringed bass makes it the quietest instrument in a jazz group. _And he's literally standing in the shadows... haven't noticed him playing until now._

Now, his solo is another story. There's enough power and substance in his playing for everyone to hear his notes loud and clear. Nishinoya backs him up like the two of them are playing the same instrument, and Oikawa drops out with a sigh of relief.

 _Holy_ shit _I'm done I need another drink. No, the whole fucking bottle._

He relaxes for the first time tonight, leaning back and totally forgetting that piano benches have no backs to lean on—

Iwaizumi catches him around the shoulders and holds him there like he's about to dip him in a ballroom dance. They stare at each other for a moment before they both burst into laughter.

"You do this every week?" Oikawa asks, once they're both upright again. He's feeling a lot of newfound respect for jazz players.

"Not what you just did," says Iwaizumi. "Can't believe that was sight-reading. You're really—"

Sugawara _finally_ takes a solo, and Oikawa has to jump back in on the accompaniment. Both of them manage to stick their tongues out at each other while playing.

"Are you two five years old..." Sawamura grumbles from offstage.

The four players rejoin to play the melody one last time. The crowd hoots and hollers even before they finish—it's a huge success.

"An extra round of applause for Oikawa!" Sugawara announces at the end.

It's not like Oikawa's getting a standing ovation—well, people _are_ standing, but they're just going to the bathroom or the bar. But he _feels_ like he is, from the cheers, the pats on his back, the hair-ruffling from some grandpa-types, and even the two older ladies offering to help him 'relax a little, you look so tense on stage.' (Actually... he could do without that last one.)

To top it off, someone pushes a top-shelf gin and tonic in his hand.

"On the house," Sugawara says. "Good call on "Take Five," the bartender is a Brubeck fan."

"Thanks. But I still hate you," Oikawa responds, downing half the drink in one gulp.

Sugawara laughs. "I dunno, I think I kinda like you now. I mean, not just at this moment, but the, ah, current version of you."

"... what?"

"The Oikawa Tooru I thought I knew would've walked out the door the moment I said his name on stage." Sugawara thinks about this, then corrects himself. "Maybe he wouldn't've shown up at all."

Oikawa stares down at his drink. "No—what? I just didn't want to make you guys look bad."

"Nice try," Sugawara laughs, "But that's still a new-Oikawa type of good deed."

"To save face, then," Oikawa _harumphs_. "I hate being humiliated."

(He remembers that sentence sounding far more venomous the last time he said it.)

Sugawara taps a finger on his own chin. "Hmm. Being judged by strangers in a seedy bar you'd never go to... would that have mattered to you?"

Honestly? No. He wouldn't've given two shits about what these people thought of him. So why...

"I take back most of what I said before," Sugawara continues. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still worried about Iwaizumi. But you... what you say and what you do and maybe even what you  _think_ are completely different things, and I don't think he realizes that. Do _you_ , even? Don't make me start worrying about you, too."

"What, worrying—are you my mom? What are you even talking about?" Oikawa can't even tell if Sugawara's saying something positive or negative about him. 

Sugawara blinks at him for a moment, then smiles. It's sincere, this time. "Sorry, just thinking out loud. Let me know when you're ready for another—" he points to Oikawa's now-empty glass—"or if you feel like eating. As an apology for, you know. Better yet, just put whatever on my tab, I'm in a good mood tonight."

After Sugawara leaves, Oikawa sees Iwaizumi and Azumane drinking beers by the piano and drags them to the bar.

"Good, both of you drink," he says. "Finish that and get something decent, not the cheap stuff on tap. And I hope you're hungry, too."

"Huh?"  
"E-Eh?"

"Payback." Oikawa shoves a menu in Iwaizumi's hands and waves the bartender over. "We're buying _everything_ they're selling."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Stride jazz version of Rachmaninoff's Concerto no. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jd0GCLZ3TU) (arr. Cédric Granelle) [return to text]
> 
> 2 Music for certain brass/wind instruments, including saxophones, are written in different keys. Something that's written as a "C" for alto sax sounds like an "A" for a piano. So if Oikawa uses Sugawara's alto sax music, he has to transpose—mentally count back two letters for every note before he plays it. 
> 
> He wouldn't have to do this if he can use Asahi's music, since the bass and piano are are both written in the same key, but Suga wasn't about to let that happen...  
> [return to text]
> 
> 3 [Take Five](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHdU5sHigYQ) (Dave Brubeck) [return to text]


	9. Two tone poems: II. Baroque at the church on Saturday morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tone poem: A musical composition (or part of one) that tells and illustrates a specific story.

(A short prelude.)

On Oikawa's eighteenth birthday, Elise broke into his apartment with a bottle of scotch, a story, and a business proposition.

They were halfway through the whiskey when she said, "I _will_ admit that I forced my way into your parents' careers." 

Oikawa sighed at his new apartment's newly broken window. "Yeah, forcing your way in's really your thing, huh. But does it matter? They liked you, you liked them, and you made them famous."

"I _had_ to. It was like watching blindfolded children run across a freeway. Your father had no business sense and your mother had no _common_ sense.  _He_ kept performing for free, and  _she_  always tried to survive on onigiri before competitions."

_The only thing she knows how to make,_ Oikawa thought against his will.

"But as musicians?" Elise shook her head. "Different story. They were brilliant beyond description. My management agency—my _entire career_ was built from their success in Tokyo alone."

"Okay..." Oikawa shrugged. He still couldn't figure out what she was getting at. "I mean, I've heard all this from Nee-san already—"

Elise took a long swig of the whiskey. "It wasn't enough."

"Uh. Elise, I hate to say this, but Mom's famous all over the world. What do you mean, 'it wasn't enough.'"

"It's enough _now_ , but it wasn't enough to give them what they wanted. Needed.  _So._ " She _smacked_ the coffee table with her hand and pushed herself into Oikawa's space. They were nose to nose when she said, "Get into a good music school, leave your career in my hands, and I'll get you what _you_ want."

"What? No! I will _not_ leave my career in _anyone's_ hands—"

"I'll get you out of Japan by the time you graduate. Paris or Berlin, take your pick. We can talk if you want to go somewhere else... within reason, of course. You hate relying on your aunt and uncle, right? I'll make you financially independent enough to get you settled over there on your own, get you the connections you need to get work. Of course, you can always choose to renew your contract with my agency."

Oikawa's face went blank. "Renew? But I don't  _have_ a contract with you."

"You will, if you want to get out of this country. In return for everything I said, you will sign a four-year contract with us. Starting _today_." A glint flashed across Elise's glasses. "With a 40% commission." 

"Wh— _40%?_ Jesus Christ, Elise—" _Isn't it usually ten? Fifteen?_  

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You let me know if anyone else will represent the mysterious and unknown  _Oikawa Tooru_  who at age 18 has 'zero competition or performance experience'."

_Shit. I walked right into that one... is this my only choice?_

"What's in it for me if you fail?" he asked.

"Hah! You're nothing like your parents when it comes to this kind of thing," said Elise. "I knew you would be interesting. If I fail? You get 100% ownership of my company on the day you graduate. Run it. Sell it. I don't care."

"Wh—what the hell?!" Oikawa expected Elise to offer money. A new piano. Maybe a fancy car. Not her _entire life's work._ "Are you drunk? Insane? Why are you doing this?"

"We have shared interests, Tooru. I need a fresh, new face for the agency. And you need proof you're not in her shadow. _Real_ success."

"But your whole company as collateral? Is this some sort of joke—"

Elise took off her glasses, and Oikawa saw her hesitate for the first (and probably last) time ever. "Your parents... I... Let me do this because I couldn't, for them. My agency has no right to exist if I fail you, too."

She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a file folder.

"Contract, and a notarized letter from your family's lawyer on the last page. He's looked through everything—you just decide, sign, and seal."

"If you're lying about our lawyer—"

"Third clause on page six. Contract is null and void if that's the case. Call him now, if you want. But I want an answer before I leave."

"... fine. Let me read it first."

(To this day, Oikawa still thinks he sold his soul to the devil with that contract.)

"Good. First." She pulled out her laptop as soon as Oikawa signed. "Be available for the next three Sunday mornings. And since I'm here already, let's talk about this fellowship you should look into. If you apply at the right time, from the right conservatory..."

 

* * *

 

After that jazz business at the bar last night, followed by the hour and a half drive to this gig just now, Oikawa's too exhausted to get mad. But he should be. He  _wants_ to be.

"Elise, _why_ did you send me to a goddamn _farm_. You know _damn well_ my contract has a rider about performing with animals." (He'll never forget that one wedding with the chicken coop.)

"Stop being a baby, Tooru, you're playing in the _church_ that happens to be on a farm. No animals involved. Except for the small children, but you seem to be okay with those."

"Fine, but I'm leaving as soon as the first goat tries to eat my wallet. And you better hold up your end of the deal—"

"They're already on their way to Japan."

"... oh. Uh. Really? Um. Thanks."

"Mm. So make sure you play nice with whatever ancient relic or old crone they call a church pianist. I can't promise pay if they die during your recital."

"You are a terrible person."

"Funny, can't imagine why people keep telling me that. Now shoo. Go make me some money."

 

* * *

 

The first thing Oikawa sees inside the church is a beautiful, antique harpsichord.

_Huh._

"Oikawa-san! Thank you very much for coming today." A woman and two little girls greet him with polite bows. "Working on weekends while attending the conservatory must be very difficult."

He turns on the charm—always a good idea at gigs, in case you're talking to the person who writes the check. "No, no—this is a very beautiful church, by the way—honestly, I'm happy and grateful to have a chance to play here."

"Ah, how wonderful! We've never had _two_ musicians play for us before, but my grandmother is such a fan of Baroque music and it's not the same without at least a duet. I understand you have experience with period instruments?" She hands him a flat, black case about the length of his arm and the width of his hand.

He looks inside; it's an antique violin bow. "Oh. Wow. I mean, yes, I do."  _These people are serious... Crap. We might actually need to rehearse._

He tries to sound casual. "So this harpsichord... _your_ pianist is actually playing _this_ today? Can I have a few minutes with them?"

She gives him a huge smile and nods. "Yes, of course. Oh, we're so excited to hear you play together. What a rare treat!" She turns to her kids. "You know what to do, right? It's a _very_ important job." The two girls salute their mother and run off.

"They're quite attached to him, you see," the woman says. "He's so very kind. I think you'll like him, Oikawa-san."

She makes the two of them tea, and they chat about this grandmother who loves Baroque music and how this is a special event in her honor.

Before long, they hear the soft rumble of little footsteps running on carpet.

"Oh, here he is," she says.

"Mama, Mama!" One of the girls bursts into the room. "Look! We got Iwa-chan!"

The second girl yanks _hard_ when she enters the room, and Iwaizumi comes stumbling in.

_Huhhhhhhhh?_

Everything freezes for Oikawa and Iwaizumi in the split second it takes for them to recognize each other—

—and then time starts again.

Iwaizumi walks into a table, and Oikawa chokes on his tea.

"Oh my," the woman says, over Oikawa's coughing and Iwaizumi's groaning. "I should attend to our guests, but I think Iwaizumi-san will be able to help you with anything else you need." She bows to both of them and leaves.

 

* * *

 

"No way," Iwaizumi says, crossing his arms. "How did you even find me here? You're really taking this accompanist thing way too far—"

"Yeah," Oikawa scoffs, "Like I'd want to see your dumb face two days in a row. On a _weekend_. I got hired for this event today, but what about you? They know you here. Are you a member or something?"

"No, I just like playing here. The acoustics are really nice, better than the recital hall at school. They even let me play the organ on Wednesdays. I asked Sensei for some Bach, it would sound great in here."

_Wait a minute. You come here twice a week?_ Oikawa wants to ask, but it's irrelevant. For now. Probably?

"... right," he says, instead. "Well, you're stuck accompanying me today, unless you want to disappoint that nice family."

"But _why_ are _you_ here?" Iwaizumi flaps the music at Oikawa. "This is a violin sonata!"

Oikawa grabs his violin and shakes it at Iwaizumi. "And this is a violin!"

"Seriously?! You play—I don't—shit, how are we gonna do this?"

"It should be fine. I think," says Oikawa. "A Baroque sonata is more like 'violin solo with some stuff underneath' anyway—"

"Hey!"

"Iwaizumi this is NOT the time to get indignant—ugh. Listen. This sort of works like jazz. Think of me as Sugawara during his solo. Play like you do for him, fill in the blanks I leave open."

"But it's you..."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean!" Oikawa pokes Iwaizumi in the stomach with the scroll of his violin. " _Rude_. Honestly, this is easier than jazz—you can improvise, but the chords in this are way less complicated."

"Wait, what do you mean, you can improvise? I've learned pretty much the whole score—"

"Oikawa-san! Iwaizumi-san! Please come to the lobby when you're ready," they hear just outside the door.

"Shit." Iwaizumi closes his eyes.

"Hey." Oikawa nudges him and gets no response. _"Hey._ Stop thinking whatever you're thinking.  _Lis_ -ten. Use those ridiculous ears of yours out there and listen to me play." He's surprised at the gentleness in his own voice, barely recognizes it, keeps talking in spite of himself. "I think... no, I _know_ you'll figure out what to do."

He notices a light purple tinge on Iwaizumi's fingernails. 

_His fingers are probably freezing,_ Oikawa thinks. He reaches for Iwaizumi's hands to warm him up, calm him down, _whatever_ as long as it makes him feel a little better—

"— _messing with his feelings—"_

_... ?_

_... Is this what Sugawara meant?_

_Is Iwaizumi misunderstanding? This is about work. For school. Feelings aren't involved._

"Ah, ahem, anyway." Oikawa dismisses these thoughts. He doesn't have time right now. "Help me with this damn bow that lady gave me, it's stuck in the case."

"It's..." Iwaizumi frowns. "Why does it look like that?"[1]

"It's a Baroque bow. I hate these things—the response is slow, can't get any volume out of them, they look like they're gonna fall apart any second, a lot of them are crappy reprod—"

"Oikawa."

"What I mean is, you're not the only one who's in trouble. Watch, I'll probably break this thing two measures into the piece—"

" _Oikawa_. ... stop... showing _sympathy_. It's weird. You're creeping me out."

"Wh—I was _not_ —UGH."

 

* * *

 

_I really underestimated this job_.

"Why are there _so many people?_ " Oikawa says under his breath. "You said this place has, like a dozen members. There are at least a hundred people out there!"

"Everyone does love Obaa-san," Iwaizumi says.

_Wait a minute,_ Oikawa thinks. 

_There are a hundred, two hundred people. So what?_  
_Bow aside, this is easy. I played this in fifth grade.  
_ _So why am I nervous too?_

(This might be the first time he's given a paid gig more than three seconds of thought.)

"Let's not disappoint her, then, hm?" Oikawa says to Iwaizumi. "Play me an A, will you... and stop frowning, you'll scare those cute little girls."

"... Shut up, you jerk."

"And  _there's_ the Iwaizumi we all know and love."

 

* * *

 

Corelli's twelfth violin sonata begins with a simple statement of the Renaissance melody known as _La Follia_.  [2] It's another theme and variations piece, like the Mozart Iwaizumi played.

At first, it goes well. The parts are simple, the violin and harpsichord are in sync... until the first variation.

_Great. We lasted, what, 30 seconds?_ Oikawa sighs to himself.  
  
To Iwaizumi's credit, he is and remains focused and attentive. And he's playing accurately... more or less. Normally this is good enough, but here the harpsichord has to drive both of them forward. Instead, he's second-guessing himself and falling behind. Dragging them both down.

Oikawa hates to admit it, but at times like this it's best to pretend he's Kuroo. Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou, fourth year violin performance, is an obnoxious shit who looks and squawks like a chicken... but at the same time, he's the concertmaster of the Momogaoka Symphony Orchestra for good reason. So Oikawa thinks about how he moves and breathes, the body language he uses to guide other people without words.  

But his efforts fall flat.

_Iwaizumi's not paying attention to anything but the music, is he? Shit. Now what?_

There _is_ one more strategy, which happens to be the exact reason why Oikawa _really_ doesn't like playing Baroque music. He hears Shimada-sensei's history lectures in his mind...

"Music during the Baroque period was very...  _open to suggestion_ , as one may say. This is a time when—yes, even centuries ago—improvisation was welcome with open arms."

_It's a long shot.  
I've never practiced this. I've never even _ tried  _ _this.__

_It's like fighting fire with fire, throwing improvisation at someone who only knows improvisation. Or is it more like throwing water on a grease fire?_

_Yeah, we'll probably crash and burn._

But when do things involving Iwaizumi ever go as planned?

_Maybe, maybe it'll work in our favor._

Oikawa takes a deep breath, and, for the first time in his life, ignores all the music in front of him and plays.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi looks like someone just put ice down his back. "What are you doing?! Did you skip a page?" He says out of the corner of his mouth.

"No, I'm making you listen!" Oikawa tries to imagine himself as Sugawara ( _ughhhh)_. What would he do with Iwaizumi in this situation?

_(Same as always. Talk. A conversation between old friends.)_

And so the violin asks a question and leaves the door open, waits, hopes.  
_(Will you come with me? It could be fun. There's so much we can do.)_

...

...

...

... the harpsichord rolls its eyes and nods.

"You're the _worst_ ," Iwaizumi hisses. Oikawa tries not to laugh out loud.

 

* * *

 

A flurry of sixteenth notes fly out of the violin, getting faster, louder—  
_(Stuuupid. You're too slow.)_

The harpsichord is too stubborn to follow. It plays evenly, glaring at the violin the entire time.  
_(You're just showing off, dumbass.)_

The melody calms—a stately waltz. The violin tries not to sound bored.  
_(Ugh okay_ fine _. You're such an old man.)_

Near the end of the phrase, the violin holds a note for just a hair longer—  
_(But seriously, where do you want to go next?)_

—and the harpsichord catches it with a fancy little trill.  
_(... I guess we can go faster again, if you want.)_

Oikawa leans a bit closer to Iwaizumi. "Thanks, _I-wa-chan."_

It's hard not to feel satisfied, Oikawa thinks, when Iwaizumi jumps and bangs his knee _hard_ on the bottom of the harpsichord.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Iwaizumi gives Oikawa control, he goes even faster  _just_ to piss Iwaizumi off. 

Iwaizumi's presses his lips together in a thin line, and he looks really, really mad. 

_Oh, come on. It was just a joke._

... _No, he's not mad._ Oikawa recognizes that face. _Oh shit. He's about to—_

Iwaizumi pushes forward. Pushes and pushes and  _pushes_ and adds notes,  _waaay_ too many notes, impossibly fast now and—

_I've created a monster._

Oikawa can't keep up. He tries to channel _"I just TOLD you this bow was hard to use five minutes ago ugh I hate you WHAT are you doing"_ in his playing, but it doesn't look like Iwaizumi's getting the message.

(The violin is running, and the harpsichord is slightly ahead on a bicycle asking why it's _so sloooow_ and telling it to go faster.)

_Haaah, the finish line. Finally, the last note in this variation—_

The horsehair falls out of Oikawa's bow with a _puuf!_

 

* * *

 

Hair detaching from a bow can happen to any string player at any time. Oikawa has seen it during rehearsals, concerts, you name it. Nothing's really broken, or unfixable, or anything like that.

But it's a whole different game, he realizes, when _he's_ the one with this unusable bow, which is just a wooden stick with a bunch of horsehair hanging from it, now. In other words, he's holding something that looks like the world's shittiest mop in front of a few hundred people who still expect him to make music with it.

_Goddamnit this is why I play the fucking piano none of this horsehair bullshit—_

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Don't react. Stop, where's my regular bow? Shit, back in that room—don't make a face—stop and make an announcement—_

The two little girls from earlier scurry forward, one with a new bow and one with an empty case ready to take the old one away.

_Oh my God thank you thank you—_

He kneels down, but the girl isn't expecting that. She reaches too high, overbalances, and ends up bopping him on the shoulder with the bow.

It leaves a _huge_ white streak on his black shirt.

They just sort of stay like that for a few moments, Oikawa on one knee and the two sisters gaping at him. The girl with the bow looks like she wants to drop it and run, and her sister looks like she's about to cry.

_Noooooo nono no crying children Elise will flay me alive and post it on Youtube—_

He gets an idea.

"Do the other one," he whispers. 

The sisters don't understand, but now they look curious rather than upset. 

"Hit me on my other shoulder. It's okay, I promise."

The harpsichord strikes up a lovely, medieval version of _La Follia_  in the background. It's a duet—a lute's round, plucked notes form the sonata's theme, and a gittern's supporting chords are strummed low and deep. 

Oikawa can't believe it. _He knows what I'm doing?_

The two girls shrug and bump Oikawa's other shoulder with the bow. They giggle when he kisses each of their hands and laugh when he stands, takes the bow, and "sheathes" it like a sword. 

"Princesses," he says. "The dragon awaits." 

Oikawa bows to the sisters with a flourish, and the two of them curtsy. (He feels _proud_ of them for playing along, but he can't quite figure out why.) It earns the three of them applause and cheers and laughter and a nice chorus of "awwww"s from the crowd.

"Showoff," Iwaizumi says, when Oikawa gets back into position.

"Says the Renaissance court musician. If I'm a showoff, you're an _enabler_."

"It was cute. Couldn't help it."

Oikawa does _not_ like being called cute, not that Iwaizumi was talking about him anyway, so that has _nothing_ to do with how distracted he is for the rest of the performance.

 

* * *

 

"Well! You heard them out there. And if it matters to you young folks, you've made an old woman very, very happy."

Oikawa and Iwaizumi grin at each other. Neither of them are really sure how or why they went from blinking in surprise at thunderous applause to sitting on kiddie stools on each side of today's guest of honor in a waiting room. Neither of them care. She  _did_ just give them chocolate, after all. 

"So many musicians," she says to them, "lock themselves in invisible booths on stage. They pretend no one else exists! Tradition, rules, professionalism, whatever you call it—too often, they're excuses for people who don't understand performance. "

"But you two... that was a _Performance_. Truly Baroque, a one-of-a-kind Corelli. And Hajime, _shame_ on you for hiding your friend from us. You've been here three years, and this is only the first time we're hearing Tooru play? You'll get an earful from the girls for keeping him to yourself. They're already convinced he's some sort of prince."

"Yeah, Iwa-chan, _shame_ on you!" Oikawa chirps. 

Iwaizumi hides his face in his hands. "Pleasedon'tcallmethat." 

"Ooh, sorry, sorry. Obaasan, look, I think _Hajime's_ getting a fever. Do you have any cold water I can dump on him?" Oikawa asks. 

"Only if I can strangle you with a violin string first," Iwaizumi grumbles.

She laughs, shaking her head. "Something tells me you two have been like oil and water since you were kids."

"Nah, we only met at school a few months ago," Iwaizumi explains.

"I see, I see. How interesting!" The old woman claps once and nods. "You know, now that you've met—let's see, Barenboim and duPre, Cage and Cunningham, Finckel and Han... maybe your names will be next." [3]

Oikawa feels his face  _burn._

"Now, play Corelli here again while I'm still alive, you two." She kisses each of them on their foreheads and wheels away.

 

* * *

  

"Oikawa. Oikawa, hey."

"Huh?" 

"You actually kinda look like you have a fever. You okay?"

"Yeah. Tired." 

"Yeah, me too," Iwaizumi says. "Do you know who she was talking about? I think one or two names sound familiar, but..."

"Oh. They're just. Musicians who, together, uh, performed a lot. Well. Finckel and Han are still alive, present tense for them." 

"Oh. Okay. Huh."

"Iwa-chan?"

"God, Oikawa, I said not to—"

"Heh, sorry. Today was fun."

"... Umm, okay?"

"..."

"What's going on? Oikawa?"

Oikawa plants himself front of Iwaizumi. No leaning, no gestures, no poses. It feels too plain—too _open_.

_But how else can I say this?_

"When I was 16, I figured out exactly what I want. I found out  _how_  I could get it when I turned 18. Everything I've done since then goes towards making all that happen."

"You have things you want to do, too. So why would you accompany me, right? It has nothing to do with teaching. But it sounds like, I mean, you come here so often and it's not for school and not for work. And then the two of us played like  _that_ just now and I mean it was stupid fun so I _have_ to ask again. God, I'm rambling like some idiot. So this will be the last time. Okay?"

Iwaizumi says nothing.

"For some reason, hearing you play already makes me feel like I can do so much more. But you playing next to me makes me feel like I _will_ do so much more." 

"Except your dreams are as important to you as mine are to me, and, yeah. Making you play with me when you don't want to... that's not what I want." 

"So. Iwaizumi. Will you..." Oikawa leaves the question open, waits, hopes.

_(Will you come with me? It could be fun. There's so much we can do.)_

_..._

_..._

_..._

Iwaizumi looks away. "I'm sorry."

Oikawa takes a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah."

_(Good thing this isn't about feelings.)_

"They'll probably assign someone to me anyway. I should go return this bow, um, see you at school? Your theory exam."

"Yeah, see you."

 

* * *

 

Yachi looks at her message notifications and starts to worry.

_Iwaizumi-senpai? On a weekend?_

**Iwaizumi Hajime**  
Hey  
Stupid question  
A person who wants to be an elementary school teacher

**Yachi Hitoka**  
??  
Still there?

**Iwaizumi Hajime**  
Its dumb right  
For that kind of person to want to perform  
Nvm  
Sry

**Yachi Hitoka**  
No!!!!! It's not!!!!!!!!!!!!  
I think it's so hard to figure out what you want so when you do isn't it good to go for it?  
Even if you don't know. If you just think it'll be interesting  
That's what Shimizu-senpai said to me before I applied here  
Talk at school? I'm practicing after dinner

(Yachi stays glued to her phone for the rest of the afternoon, but he never responds.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [A Baroque bow](https://imgur.com/a/LWdp9) (the top 2 bows in the link) looks like a modern bow (bottom 2) bent in the wrong direction. [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Sonata Op. 5 No. 12 ("La Follia")](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BPhkY6xIP8) (Arcangelo Corelli) [return to text]
> 
> 3 These people were/are partners in music _and_ "couples" in their personal lives—married, life partnered, etc.  [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Haven't talked at you all for a while, so here we go:
> 
> First, to get this off my chest: I can't believe it took me _nine_ chapters to make "Iwa-chan" happen. NINE. Oikawa saying "Iwaizumi" is just weird to me so this is really a huge relief.
> 
> I should've said this way earlier but the two main student OCs Mina & Sunakawa are inspired by [Natsume Asako from Tonari no kaibutsu-kun](https://www.google.com/search?q=natsume+asako&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS730US730&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiMxsXY543YAhVP1WMKHUIvASwQ_AUICigB&biw=624&bih=432) and [Sunakawa Makoto from Ore no monogatari.](https://www.google.com/search?q=sunakawa+makoto&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS730US730&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjqrpeL6I3YAhVS6WMKHRoXAxcQ_AUICigB&biw=624&bih=432)
> 
> For everyone following along, I hope you enjoyed the double update! I actually had surgery a few days ago, took the week off, and ended up planning and writing A LOT for this fic haha. So here are some of the things coming up: this "favor" Elise did for Oikawa, an actual resolution for poor Yachi, a bit more on Mina/Sunakawa, a performance by Makki's trio, more character crossovers from Nodame, and another one of those damn "New Studio Assignment" notices. 
> 
> Last but not least: readers, kudos-ers, commenters... THANK YOU ahhhhhhhhhhhh you all improve the quality of my life so very much <3


	10. Sforzando

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sforzando: with sudden force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the Yachi chapter.

"You two should close your mouths. I don't want a drooled-on exam in my student records," Takinoue jokes.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi look at him, then at each other, then back at the test—

 

"81/100"

 

The teacher nods in approval. "Congratulations! Both of you. Great work. I had high hopes about the results, but I didn't expect you two to finish until well into third term. Oikawa, come see me later about your application. Iwaizumi, you're done. Completely. This tested you out of fourth-year theory, figured you could use the time in the spring.

Iwaizumi just stares at the test.

Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi.

 

 

"... Okay, you two are creeping me out," Takinoue says. "You're... free to go... _okay_ yeah this is weird. See you two later."

When it's just the two of them in the room—

"And we're all sure that 8 and 1 aren't, like, switched around or something," Oikawa mumbles.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, glares at Oikawa. "Oh my God do you _really_ have to be a jerk right now—"

"You did really well." Oikawa still stares at the test. 

"Huh? Oh." Iwaizumi looks out the window. "Right. I mean, thanks."

Oikawa bites his lip. "Sorry, gotta go. See you around."

He leaves before Iwaizumi can say or do anything else.

 

* * *

 

In the cafe, Yachi is sitting alone at a table with her head lowered and eyes closed. She clutches the temple charms she bought yesterday and remembers all the times when doing something scary brought her closer to someone important. (Well, it hasn't happened yet with Oikawa. But soon, she thinks.)

She whispers to herself:

"Shimizu-senpai. Mom. Iwaizumi-senpai. Mina-chan. Oikawa-senpai. Shimizu-senpai. Mom. Iwaizumi-senpai—"

"'ey! It's Wrist Sprain Girl! Yachi-san, right?" 

"Huh?" Yachi opens her eyes and sees well-worn black leather boots. She looks up—gray jeans, then a lime green sweater over an untucked black and white checkered shirt, a toothy grin, and pink hair.

"Oh! Hanamaki-san...?"

"Yeah! Cool, you remember me. Hey, is that your hit list or something?" he asks.

_... ?_

The words "Hit List" in giant typewriter font appear in her mind, along with some machine gun sound effects in the distance.

_... ??????_

Hanamaki takes a seat. "I can see why you'd wanna kill Oikawa and Iwaizumi, maybe even Mina-chan because MAN that girl won't shut up sometimes. But I don't know anything about this Shimizu, and you probably shouldn't murder your mom."

"Wh-wh-what?? What but what I don't I swear I'm not—"

"Calm down! Just a joke," he chuckles. "You know, like Arya Stark in Game of Thrones? Never mind. Here. Peace offering." He grabs a handful of something from his bag and rolls one to her side of the table. "I know I can be a real dickface—ah, no, let's see, uh... _annoying guy_ sometimes. Sorry 'bout that. No hard feelings?"

Yachi stops the little ball wrapped in blue foil—a piece of chocolate. she smiles. "No hard feelings!"

"Seriously, though," Hanamaki says. "If you're trying to kill my idiot best friend I'd be happy to help. I can probably put a whole fucking squad together _UGHH_ —"

—he  _bangs_ his head on the table. _Hard_.

Yachi scrambles back, and her chair makes a loud _screeeeeee_  against the floor.

Everyone in the cafe looks over.

_Oh my gosh this is terrible I just interrupted everyone I need to leave—_

Hanamaki waves his hand at her and says, in an urgent whisper, "Waitwaitwait sorry I didn't meant to scare you, I can explain—"

Yachi (very carefully) pulls her chair back in.

"So my girlfriend, right," Hanamaki begins, "we're still working shit—crap— _stuff_ out. The biggest thing is, she doesn't like 'colorful language'. Which, you know, I don't really think I have change for someone else, right? But she said—and UGH second-years aren't supposed to be smart yet, no offense—it would be bad if I accidentally said 'shit' or 'fuck' or whatever during an audition. Or a professional orchestra rehearsal, you know what I mean?"

Yachi nods. Just imagining the other musicians' reactions makes her shiver.

"So we agreed, I won't swear at school. Since we're 'already pros' or some shi— _junk_ , and she was super happy. She even said Oikawa can be an exception, and come on how can anyone NOT be into a girl like that, right?"

_He's rambling a little bit. It's cute,_ Yachi thinks. "Hanamaki-san," she giggles. "You must really like her."

"Huh? Well, yeah, no shit _OH MY GOD WHY._ " He bangs his head on the table. Twice.

Yachi was expecting it, this time. She hands him her glass of water and points to his head.

"Ooh, ice in here," Hanamaki says. "Thanks." He presses the glass against his forehead.

"It must be difficult to change something you're so used to," says Yachi.

Hanamaki sighs. "I'm surprised it's this hard. I thought I could just stop once I graduate, no big deal. But it's so easy to fah _mess_ up. I know she doesn't expect me to change overnight, but I still don't wanna let her down. Let _myself_ down. I'd seriously hate myself if I lost a job for some shi _habit_ like this. I don't know how it is for pianists, but blacklisting is _real_ in orchestras. I would've been in, uh—"

He holds up a finger for a few moments...

"—trouble."

She gives him a small round of applause. "You didn't start to say a bad word that time!"

Hanamaki laughs. It's a nice sound, she thinks.

"Anyway—" He stands and picks up his bag. "I'm gonna—"

" _Wait!!_ " Yachi shouts. She slaps both hands over her mouth.

_Why did I just do that why that was so loud!!_

And then she remembers how Iwaizumi has been looking and acting these past few days. And how everyone's sad because nobody knows what's going on or how to help.

_This person is Oikawa-san's best friend. Maybe he knows what's happening??_

"Do you, did Oikawa-senpai tell you anything about. Anything?"

"Oh!" Hanamaki slaps himself on the forehead—"OW"—and mutters the longest string of swear words Yachi has ever heard. After a few deep breaths, he says, "Totally forgot. I actually came over here to ask if Iwaizumi's talked about Oikawa at all, because Oikawa's being... I don't even know. I've been hounding him about it every time I see him. I mean, seeing him around a lot is  _already_ weird. I've bumped into him more this week than I have since whenever he started sticking to Iwaizumi like glue."

Yachi shakes her head. "... last Saturday Iwaizumi-san sent me some messages I don't understand, but that's it." 

"Well, now we _know_ it was something over the weekend. I dunno if you saw Iwaizumi on Monday, but I had class with Oikawa first thing and he looked like shi-hell- _ahhhh_ _does hell count?"_

Yachi considers this. "I think it depends on the audience," she says. "But you're talking about Oikawa-san so it's okay, right?"

Hanamaki stares at her. 

"Okay yeah we should definitely be friends," he says. "Then we can make our friends suck less, yeah?" He holds out his phone.

She laughs and does the same. "Isn't it better to make our friends happy?"

Hanamaki snorts. "Better to have low standards with those two."

 

* * *

 

Yachi is an expert at running away. She's been doing it for well over a decade, from threats as simple as mean kids in kindergarten to complex assassination schemes in high school.

When she manages to escape, her legs burn and her heart pounds like crazy. But she feels so  _relieved_. All the anxiety drains out of her to make way for exhaustion.

Not too long ago, she ran again. Not in the physical sense, though—it was when she "ran" from facing Oikawa that day in the hospital by keeping a secret and making an excuse to herself.

If anything, anxiety _grew_ after she did it.

She's tired of this fake-running. So she resolves to stand her ground, beginning in Ukai Ikkei's office. 

 

* * *

 

 "So, what I mean is, Sensei, I'm very sorry!" Yachi bows as deeply as she can from the waist. (Shimizu told her getting on her knees can make things more awkward.) "I know you won't believe me—"

"Oi."

"—but I'm ready for my punishment and I promise I'll accompany anybody—"

"Oi—"

"—even Oikawa-san, if Iwaizumi-san gets sick or injured which I hope will never happen but I'm totally definitely ready to step in—"

_"Pipsqueak."_

"Eeep!" Yachi straightens up and hops back by reflex. "Yes?"

Ukai crosses his arms and sighs. "Well, I'm disappointed, I can tell you that."

"I'm sor—"

"Apologies start losing their effect if you use 'em too much," he says.

Yachi freezes. "I'm so sor—" She slaps her hands over her mouth.

"Hah!" Ukai nods. "Nice effort there. You do your work right this time, and that 'sorry' will sound pretty good."

For a moment, she catches a look in his eye that reminds her why some people call him "The General"—

He says, "Disappoint me again, and you're out of my studio. Understand?"

—but she's known, for a while now, that he's all bark and ~~no bite~~  a very little to a medium-small amount of bite. _He's a lot like Iwaizumi-senpai, really._

"Yessir!" she salutes.

Ukai laughs. "Good answer!" Here's your punishment, Pipsqueak."

"Huh?"

He goes to one of his bookcases and empties about a third of a shelf.

"Have two ready by next week." He plops a big pile of music in her arms. "And the first movement of one concerto. Make sure you pick a good one, you'll be playing the whole thing in your solo recital."

_Recital._

_Solo._

_Playing full concerto, plus 3 or 4 other pieces, all by myself, all in a row._

_Ehhhhhhhh???_

 

* * *

 

The music is really, really hard. Yachi talked to Ukai the next day—no procrastinating, this time—and he suggested learning the theory to make sense of what she's playing.

Of course, the theory is really, really hard, too. She's seen entire graduate seminars dedicated to studying Bach. Anything beyond the basics is beyond her—she needs help.

...

Five email drafts and five quadruple-checks later, Yachi's holding her hand over her mouse, willing it to click "SEND." Asking for help isn't easy.

"No running," she says to herself.

_Click-click-click-click-click._

She squeezes her eyes shut and waits for her heart to slow down.

_DING!_

"Eeeeee!" She hops up onto her bed like that sound was a cockroach and not an email notification.

(It's actually a reply from Akaashi.)

_Yachi-san—sorry, I'm really not very good with Bach. You heard me in studio class the other day... but I'll listen to you whenever, of course. Oikawa might be your best bet for this sort of thing, but... well, let me know if you want me to talk to him._

The other replies soon follow.

Sugawara and Sunakawa both apologize and say something to the effect of prioritizing their orchestras and bands.

Misaki's email says,

_Sorry Hitoka-chan! That huge competition's coming up so soon... but you know Tooru right? He's big on that stuff, at least he was in high school. though he's doing the competition too... not sure if he'd be willing to help so I'll ask around sorry good luck!!!!!_

Iwaizumi replies, too.

_You meant to email someone else right? Good luck let me know if you need anything._

"Oops. Heh heh, why did I ask Iwaizumi-senpai..." Yachi says to herself. 

_DING!_

_Another email?_ "From Takeda-sensei...." She opens the message.

_Hello, Yachi-san! I hope you've been well. I hear wonderful things about you from Ukai-sensei. Sugawara-kun just sent me a message about your recital, but I'm sorry to say I can't help you this time._

_Please know that I would, under any other circumstance, but right now I'm committed to accompanying one of my students while he prepares for Miyaki-Con in two weeks._ [1]

_In fact—I'm so sorry for asking you this when I'm refusing to help, but could you please keep an ear out for a good accompanist? They'll need to know the second Rachmaninoff concerto._

_After all this, I would be happy to help you in any way I can._

Yachi reads the email twice. Three times.

_Wait a minute._

_Wait._

_Rach 2. Miyaki-Con._

_So he's talking about Oikawa-san???_

_He needs an accompanist?? I thought Iwaizumi-san was already, or someone, by now—_

In her mind, the word "REDEMPTION" chases "DISAPPOINTMENT" around with the score for the Rachmaninoff concerto and smacks it on its head.

_I still have a chance._

She writes a reply to Takeda's email—

_Hello Sensei thank you for your email! Could you be talking about Oikawa Tooru, by any chance?_

—and hits send, hoping he'll respond as quickly as—

_Yes, I am working with Oikawa-kun—_

Yachi doesn't both reading the rest of the message.

She sends this message—

_Please let him know he has an accompanist and stop don't keep looking thank you!_

—grabs her bag, and heads to school at top speed.

 

* * *

 

Yachi is running as fast as she can. She makes it to the first practice room hallway—

Two people come out of nowhere, she tries to stop but lurches forward—

"Whoooaaa!"

—and stays on her feet, thanks to whatever's holding her shoulders. Her face is just a breath away from a lime green sweater.

Hanamaki holds an imaginary microphone. "And that's three! Three outs in the ninth inning, _Hanamaki makes the game-winning catch!_ " 

Yachi looks up. "Hanamaki-san!"

Hanamaki steps back and grins at her. "Hey hey, Yachi-san, if that's how you greet your new friends, we better become best buds soon."

Yachi notices someone giggling beside him.

"Just kidding, just kidding," he grins. "It was my bad, got distracted by my lady here."

"Kuribayashi Runa," she says, bowing with a big smile.

After their introductions, Yachi asks, "Have either of you seen Oikawa-senpai?"

Hanamaki rubs his palms together and grins. "Oooh _yaaasss_ are we doing the killing thing?"

Runa pokes him in the stomach.

" _Ow_ Runa I just ate, like, three bags of chocolate stop _okay_ sorry, sorry." He turns to Yachi. "Want me to text him?"

"Oh yes yes yes _thank you!_ " Yachi starts taking long, slow breaths to calm—

A door three practice rooms away opens. Oikawa shuffles into the hallway.

Yachi squints. His silhouette's a bit different, she thinks—something's going on with his hair, plus his clothes are far too big for him. 

_And his shoes don't match?_

"Makki, for the millionth time, nothing. Hap. Pened. Oh. You're not alone."

"Yo! Hey man, lookin' pretty rough," Hanamaki says. "And Yachi-san's the one looking for you."

"Oikawasandoyouhaveaminute—" Yachi gasps for air, then—"Ireallyneedtotalktoyou."

_I did it!!_

"Leeet's go eat," Hanamaki says, nudging Runa along.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Oikawa says to Yachi. "But hey, wait! Hey, hang on!" he calls out.

The couple turns around. Hanamaki looks taken aback, and Runa's looking everywhere but at Oikawa.

"... uh." Oikawa scratches his head. "So I heard that two pretty famous musicians are coming here, a residency maybe? It's some duo, they perform together and teach chamber music[2] at some big festivals in Europe."

"Huh," Hanamaki says. "I didn't hear about this."

Oikawa shrugs. "Heard just this morning from Take-chan. That guy knows everybody for some reason.... Anyway. Thought you should know. If you guys wanna get in on that. Your trio."

He goes back into his practice without another word, though he does leave the door open. Yachi thinks this is all the invitation she's going to get.

"Hey, Yachi-san, before you go," Hanamaki says to her. "Just, uh, be careful, okay? He usually fakes being happy when he's upset. And 'til now I thought he was like, allergic to looking sloppy. This is... I don't know what this is."

Yachi thinks about this for a moment. _Is different a bad thing? Isn't this better than hiding his feelings?_

"Thank you for the advice," she says with a smile. "But I think you and I aren't the only ones trying to change."

 

* * *

 

As soon as Yachi enters the practice room, Oikawa asks, "Did Iwa-chan. Did he say something to you?"

It takes her a moment to understand he means Iwaizumi. The 'Iwa-chan' makes the situation more mysterious, but it's also more proof that Something Really Bad happened and changed... a bunch of things.

She takes a good look at him. His hair and complexion look dull and flat. His shirt is wrinkled, with one sleeve rolled up and one not, and he's only wearing one shoe.

And the room is a huge mess—there are CDs and papers _everywhere._ On the piano lid, there's a small stack of empty convenience store bento boxes and a pile of milk bread. There's also a platter of onigiri, with rice is so stale that it's a little bit translucent. She also sees a few bags in one corner, a large bottle of unopened soda, two dress shirts, and an expensive-looking leather shoe.

"N-no?" Yachi says. "... Do... you wanna talk about it?"

Oikawa rolls his eyes and does some sort of half-exhale-half-laugh. "I look that bad, huh."

"No! That's not what I—"

"You probably think this is funny, this. Me being a mess."

_Huh?_

(The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.)

Oikawa laughs. The sound is harsh, cutting. "Wonder if he'd play for you."

_...?_

_... ..._

"Are you talking about Iwaizumi-Senpai?" Yachi asks.

"Probably would." Oikawa continues, ignoring her. "He adores you, you know."

_Wait what's he saying_

"And why shouldn't he? You're cute, you're, like, best friends, you're almost as good of a pianist as he is..."

Sirens are blaring in Yachi's head.

_No. No no this is a bad place_

_Don't let him think like this_  
_It's scary but do something DO something it's ok if he gets mad deal later_

"Heh," Oikawa says. He keeps picking at the button on the cuff of his sleeve. "Better you than Tobio-chan, at least, when it comes to having everything I want—"

And here it is: the first moment in Yachi's life when her flight instinct _completely_ loses its shit and _fights._ She screams—

"PLEASE STOP!"

—grabs a milk bread from the top of the piano, and shoves it in Oikawa's mouth.

 

* * *

 

_"Please"? Like I have a goddamn choice!_ Oikawa thinks.

He reaches for the bread, but then he catches Yachi's eyes and remembers something he learned from being with Akaashi:

_"You NEVER want to make the cute, quiet ones mad."_

He sacrifices 60% of his breathing ability for his personal safety and leaves the milk bread untouched.

In a single breath, at too-many-words per minute, Yachi says,

"I don't understand why you two don't want to be happy when _all_ Iwaizumi-senpai does is talk about you for heaven's sake _I know your shoe size_ and all you do is follow Iwaizumi-senpai around school gosh you're even _worse_ than Mina-chan and Sunakawa-senpai at least they _talk_ to each other and  _make up_ after fights and _don't make their friends worry—_ "

"But—"

"Annnnd, I don't get why you're playing Rachmaninoff when _everyone_ in studio says you only ever wanted to play the Beethoven Ukai-san said you were really good too I didn't even tell him you switched concertos because _I think he would be sad!_ " she yells.

_Wait._

_What the hellll_

"Mmmmnnmm mmm nnm?" Oikawa says.

Yachi squints at him for a long second and pulls the bread out of his mouth.

He gives her a dirty look. "All right, look, _Hitoka-chan,_ there are _so_ many things wrong with _what OW okay Yachi-san_ okaynookay ow I'm sorry _I'll be good I'm sorryyyy—_ " 

Oikawa is definitely going to have nightmares about Yachi murdering him with rock-hard onigiri for a while. He hugs his knees to his chest.

And then his stomach growls. It's loud.

"... Can I eat that bread if I promise not to talk back? I'm hungry," he mumbles.

Yachi frowns at Oikawa. "Promise?"

He nods fervently, and she hands it to him.

"Please continue," he says in a tiny voice, and nibbles at the bread.

Yachi clears her throat.

"Also! You need to talk to Sugawara-senpai because he's being weird too I don't know why but he keeps saying stuff about 'getting his money's worth'!"

"AND! The last thing! Please let me accompany you for the competition I learned all three concertos just in case you change your mind again! _Not_ that I think you should! If you tell me what orchestras you like I can practice from their recordings!"

_... what?_

Oikawa doesn't feel safe enough to stop sitting like a balled-up hedgehog, but he does take a peek at Yachi. She stares at him, breathing hard.

He raises his hand.

"Y-yes?" she pants.

_This can't be some weird low self-esteem thing,_ Oikawa thinks. _Right? Giving up and accompanying instead?_

"... Are you really dropping out of the competition?"

She starts looking angry again, and Oikawa returns to full hedgehog.

"Stop saying strange things about the competition I know you're stressed out but it's _very confusing!_ How would I drop out if I was _never your accompanist in the first place??_ "

"..."

"..."

"... I still don't get it," Oikawa pouts, like he can't figure out part of his homework.

... and then Yachi droops like a wilting flower. She slumps into a chair and looks _exhausted_.

"Oikawa-san...." she says to the ceiling. "I was supposed to be your accompanist all along, but I was dumb and couldn't tell you and then all this stuff happened! I'm sorry. I still think you and Iwaizumi-senpai are... giant... _butts_. But I probably made a lot of it worse..."

Oikawa starts to understand something that he wants to rip up and throw away. Maybe burn. "Define 'all along.'" _Please please please let it be, like, yesterday—_

Yachi closes her eyes. "Umm... middle of first term, maybe?"

_Oh my God._

_Oh my God HOW_

"I know you want Iwaizumi-san to play for you, and I'll go talk to him after this, but I really think I can do almost as well as him!" She brightens a bit and sits up in her chair. "I can at least do better at having a flexible schedule!"

"... But," Oikawa says, "... you're good. Like, really good. Almost like Iwa-chan, I thought you were him for a while, actually, I mean, after I heard your Mozart, you know, the sonata?"

Yachi covers her eyes with her hands and shakes her head. "Oh _please_ don't judge my performance from that! Iwaizumi-san is... oh, this sounds so mean. He's... difficult... to play with. I could've done much better if I understood his playing a little more! But I'm gonna do better for the competition, there are these tapes of you in Ukai-san's office from the past few years, I watched—"

"Wait, wait, wait. You said... were you piano one or two _no oh God don't answer that I already know_ but that can't be right he asked me to _help him with the second part!!_ " Oikawa's voice rises to a shrill countertenor by the end of the sentence.

"He said you played the first part for him a bunch of times so that he could learn it," Yachi explains.

_... so that he could learn how the second part fits in! But of_ course  _he ignored all the theory again..._ Oikawa thinks. (Part of him really wants to laugh.)

"Ukai-san even thought I practiced with you," she continues, "but I told him it was Iwaizumi-senpai, and _he_ learned it from you. Sensei kept saying 'interesting' over and over."

"... Right, then," says Oikawa. "Please kill me now. Make it slow. And painful."

"Ehh?"

"Ughhh I'm so sorry," he croaks. "I was, I thought.... Let me make it up to you, I'll do anything. _Ohhh_ I'm a piece of shit I fucking _stalked_ you. You should've called the police on me, hah, hah..."

"Ehh? No, wait—"

He flops forward and hangs onto one of her hands for dear life. "Please. I need this. Anything. Umm. New piano? Do you have one where you live?"

"What?? No!"

"Oh good!" He gives her a firm handshake. "Piano it is. Is an upright okay? A baby grand would take me a while to sort out, I already owe Nee-san a lot... but if that's—"

"Oikawa-san _wait!_ You don't, I don't need, I don't understand _please don't give me a piano!"_

Oikawa thinks about this for a moment.

"All right then, what do you want the most, right now? Right this second. What would make you happy? Or maybe make some of your stress and anxiety go away? First thing that pops into your head."

"Oh. Some cake, maybe?"

"Fine. But too easy. What else."

Oikawa feels a chill when he sees her eyes go glassy and blank.

_Okay, here it is, she's nice and possessed so she can murder me properly—_

"A way to make my recital music go away for ever and ever," Yachi says in a shaky monotone. "but I would need to brainwash Ukai-san too, and that's probably not legal—"

"What do you mean 'make my recital music go away'?"

They stare at each other. _She looks... off, somehow. Not just tired,_ Oikawa thinks. It doesn't look like she's going to answer any time soon, so he tries switching to a friendlier topic.

"Uhhh... do you like chocolate cake?"

No response.

"Shortcake? Fancy? Plain?"

Nothing.

"I don't want—"

"Oh, okay, different dessert? Or—"

Yachi scrubs her eyes with her forearm. "I, I, I—hnn, I don't—"

_Ohhh no what is she doing_

"I don't—nnnn, I, I'm really really scared ( _sniff_ ) and I don't wanna play but, but, I already disappointed Ukai-sensei once ( _sniff_ ) and I have to but, ( _sniff_ ) but, but, I've never played an entirerecital _bymyself_ an' _Oikawa-saaaaaaannn,_ " she wails. 

At first, Oikawa thinks she has the hiccups... until he sees her tears. She's sniffing and sobbing hard in between gasping breaths and—

_A hug would be good in this situation, but when did I last shower..._

So he pulls Pillow 1 out of one of his bags and gives it to Yachi. She curls up in her chair and clings onto it without a word; he lets her cry it out for a while.

When she seems to calm down a bit, he asks, "You _are_ performance right? Not ed? What did you do to pass first year?"

She blinks at him, red-faced and puffy-eyed. "Group recitals fulfill the requirement, too, they aren't as bad, I only had to play two pieces... but I, I mean I know I have to and I don't want to complain and there's _no point in crying_ but I've been _really_ stressed out and, yelling just now made me really, _really tired_ , and, annnnd, _annnnnnaahhh_ —"

Oikawa pats her on the head with a knowing sigh. _Random uncontrollable emotional rollercoaster breakdown? I get it, I really do,_  he thinks.  _Who wouldn't, after shutting themselves in a little room for 8 to 10 hours a day almost every single day?_

"So don't play for me," he suggests. "You've got enough going on. And the competition is _international_. The _smaller_ auditorium in Towa Hall seats at least a thousand. I'll talk to the old man and explain I have a backup person coming in a couple days."

"No!!" Yachi yells. "That would..." She sniffs a few times. "I don't mind being on stage if it's to help someone else.  _Please_ let me play for you."

 

* * *

 

... _because I really need to do this,_ Yachi thinks to herself.  _I don't want to disappoint anyone. I want to see if I'm good enough. I don't like running away._ _I want to help the person Iwaizumi-san likes so much, help him play the music he wants to play. I want them to be happy, and our friends to stop worrying—_

"Yachi-san..." Oikawa sighs. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'll be honest, I do need someone and I _..._ don't particularly want to resort to my backup. But I, all this time... you shouldn't be helping me when all I've done is freak you out. Can't I do anything for you, instead?"

...

_Well..._

_"You know Tooru right? He's big on that stuff."  
"Oikawa might be your best bet."_

Yachi remembers those emails and says, "Misaki-senpai and Akaashi-senpai said, um, that you're good with Bach?" 

Oikawa makes a funny choking sound. "Y-You know Keiji  _and_ Hana-chan, wh—I mean, _ahem_. Yeah."

"Will you do something for me  _and_ let me play for you?" she asks.

"Yes. Of course I'll do something for you. If you  _insist_ on accompanying me... I'll do everything I can for you. Okay?"

"Then p-please help me with my recital!"

 

* * *

 

Oikawa paces around the room, half talking to Yachi and half thinking out loud:

"Well, first, you don't have to be on stage by yourself the whole time. You'll have an accompanist for your concerto, plus depending on what the old man wants you to play we might even be able to get away with some four-hands—"

Yachi stops crying in an _instant_ and looks up at Oikawa.

He makes the mistake of looking back at her.

" _Gwahh_  don't look at me like that do the two of you practice looking like goddamn puppies together?? Like I said,  _it depends on what you're playing._ "

Yachi hands Oikawa her phone. "The full list of music is on the left, and Ukai-sensei's suggestions are on the right. Oh, one of them needs to be a concerto."

Oikawa scrolls through Yachi's lists and shakes his head. "... that shitty old man..." he mumbles.

"Is... this really okay, Senpai? If it's too much work before the competition—"

Oikawa scoffs. "Looks like the old man thought of that already. No, no, this is perfect. I'll make sure you play the best goddamn recital of this term  _and_ I'll beat him at his own game."

 

* * *

 

"... and that's the plan from now until the prelims. You  _sure_ you're okay with this," Oikawa says. "You don't have any weekend plans? Or big due dates?—"

Yachi shakes her head. "It's okay! We don't have much for classes, because of juries and so many people taking auditions. I just have one, um, well... ... I..."

"Yachi-san," he sighs. "If we're going to do this, you'll really need to work on saying what you need to say."

"Okay, um! I've already learned the reductions... except, well, I don't really know the Rach 2, really, and learning it now might be too much for me so maybe, well, we can try the Beethoven out first? I'm really good at that one."

Oikawa gives her a flat look. "Sneaky. It's the kind of thing I would say. Mina-chan's idea?"

Yachi looks away. "... yes. I heard her say something like it to Takeda-sensei, once."

" _Fine_. We'll start with the Beethoven and see what happens. So location, agenda, you'll start listening to those recordings... That just leaves the cake. What kind?"

"Oh!" Yachi says. "Actually, there _is_ something that I would like to have. Would like to _see_ , I guess? Could we go with that instead of the cake?"

Oikawa waves her off and starts tidying up the room. "If you like cake, cake is happening. Don't worry about it. What are you thinking?"

"Please make up with Iwaizumi-san."

"Ah—wh—b—"

Yachi puts all the milk bread in a clean bag and grins at him. "I thought of that one myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Miyazono Foundation International Music Competition. Part of my hc for _Your Lie in April_ where Kaori's parents and Kousei got together and set up an international competition in her name.  [return to text]
> 
> 2 Chamber music is pretty much anything performed by 2+ but fewer than maybe 12 musicians. (Anything bigger becomes an orchestra or band.) The terms "chamber group" and "small ensemble" mean the same thing; trios, quartets, quintets etc. are specific types of chamber groups.[return to text]


	11. Fugue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fugue: a musical form where two or more voices (often four) each imitate, transpose, and develop a single theme.

"So," says Sugawara. "Oikawa. We need to talk."

He and Mina stand side by side with their hands on their hips, forming a barricade just inside the practice room doorway.

"So!" Mina points at Oikawa. "We know you've been avoiding Iwaizumi-san. For more than a week, now."

"So?" Oikawa replies. _Do these people think they're my parents or something?_ "It's none of your business. Don't you people have anything better to do? Like practicing? Getting out of my face?"

"You're not even gonna deny it!?" Mina shrieks. "Suga-sannn  _do_ somethinggggg!" She balls her hands into fists and starts pounding on Sugawara's shoulder. 

"I mean," Sugawara explains, unfazed, "it's really not cool to flat out avoid someone if they don't want to. Accompany you, I mean."

"We're very disappointed in you," adds Mina.

"It's just really awkward, okay?" Oikawa snaps. He turns away, looks at the piano keys, tries not to listen or think about any of this... but he can't resist defending himself. "Wouldn't you do the same thing after being rejected?"

"NO!" Mina and Sugawara shout.

"Let me  _go_ Senpai, I'm gonna kick his butt—" Mina grits through her teeth.

"But wait, Mina-chan, hang on," Sugawara continues. "You're not, mad at Iwaizumi or anything."

Oikawa turns around and glares. "Like I'd be mad at someone for hating how I play. I'm not a  _child._ " He turns his back on Sugawara and Mina again so that he can sulk in peace.

Mina starts hitting Oikawa, now.

_... that actually feels good on my back_ , he realizes. So he lets her rant.

"Urrgghh you're SO frustrating! Just because he doesn't wanna, _you know_ , doesn't mean he hates you! Oh my GOD he's like, _in love_ with you but he can't even talk to you you can't just PRETEND Iwaizumi-san doesn't exist! There's other stuff you guys can do, you know."

"Oh but," she adds, "I don't really, um, know. What that stuff might be? Like, obviously I've never, you know, what the normal thing to do um you two can figure that out, right, Suga-senpai knows more probably?"

The room is silent. Mina gulps and starts talking faster and faster (over Sugawara's quiet laughter).

"Yeah, um, something low-key, you know? Low-pressure I guess? I mean, let's be real. He's a pretty good looking guy, objectively. Subjectively? I always get those mixed up. ...  _A-ny-ways_  I heard you're usually into girls like me, you know, cute as hell, totally charming. So isn't Iwaizumi-san a nice change? I mean, he's all—"

"Mi-Mina-chan," Sugawara says between giggles hidden behind fake hiccups. "He, he can't see you m-making that face _pffft_ you, you're doing great, though."

"Oh," she says. "Right. So yeah, Iwaizumi-san's all, grumpy and stuff, but that's totally his charm point. Seriously, if you're into the whole stoic mom thing then _oh ho_ he is the man for you. Just think of him teaching. A bunch of cute second graders all around him. _Iwaizumi-san and little kids._ That's, that's, _so_ gap moe I can't even so come _onnnn_ Oikawa-san, you totally wanna do _something_ with him, right? Why wouldn't you? Plus, you kinda have this whole M thing going on right that I guess works for you guys? I mean you _laugh_ when he's trying to hit you with a  _drumstick_? I don't really get it but  _zero_ kink-shame from me, no sir, though look at it this way, it just means you guys are a perfect match right?? So just find something chill! But make sure both of you are into it so you can get comfortable with each other, then work up to? Accompanying? _Oh my GOD Suga-senpai PLEASE start talking_."

(Oikawa frowns. Mina's not hitting his back anymore, which is a bit of a downer, though it also means she's stopped yammering on and on about whatever.)

Sugawara pats her head a couple times. "Honestly," he says to Oikawa, "Like Mina said, I'm almost positive he wants to. But everyone has their reasons to hold off. On accompanying. And not that you would, but I have to say, I'm glad you're not forcing it on him. It helps me believe you're actually a good person."

Oikawa sighs. "I'm pretty sure you just insulted me and made it sound like a compliment. Impressive."

"UGH you guys can go be passive-aggressive together some other time!" Mina complains. "We're talking about Iwaizumi-san, remember? Just think about that poor man's feelings," she urges. "He says 'no' once and you stop talking to him? Are you really that kind of person?"

Oikawa groans. "Stop. This little comedy routine," he points back and forth over his shoulder, "is giving me a headache. Go away. I don't care anymore, Yachi-san's just fine, anyway." He starts flipping through the Beethoven score.

"Wait, YACCHAN?!" Mina screeches.

"Not so loud!" Oikawa winces and massages his temples. "Jesus Christ. Why are you so surprised? Isn't she part of your happy little group of friends? Thought she would've said something by now."

Mina talks like she's about to cut a wire on a bomb. "Welllll, Yacchan's not really, like, very open about this kind of thing. Which is fine! Great! But, I mean, isn't it too soon? You know, especially since they're really good friends."

"I know they are, what's your point," Oikawa says.

Mina and Sugawara stare at each other.

Sugawara opens his mouth, then closes it.

Oikawa sighs. "Can you two leave? I'm trying to go over her notes—" he flaps the music at them, "—and it's really hard to concentrate with all this... whatever you think you're doing."

Mina scoffs at him. " _Fine_. We're just trying to—waaaaait what do you mean her notes OH MY GOD Suga-senpai we have to go so sorryforinterrupting byee!" She flings the door open and shoves Sugawara out of the room before stumbling out herself.

Oikawa hears the following exchange through the door:

"Oh my GOD Suga-senpai this is actually about accompanying!! Like, playing piano!"

"What?! No way, you _know_ Iwaizumi likes using weird metaphors. I mean, okay, 'accompanying' does sound a little self-deprecating, I would've thought 'duet' or something but anyway, no. Way. Right? ..."

"But they're, like, music idiots."

(A long pause.)

" _Jesus Christ_  it's actually about accompanying, isn't it _what the hell is wrong with them!?_ I swear to God if they're this messed up about accompanying and not 'accompanying', I'm gonna kill them."

Oikawa rolls his eyes, puts on his headphones, and pulls out his phone.

**Oikawa Tooru**  
How do you feel about practicing at Nee-san's tomorrow  
I mean, my aunt and uncle's house they have two pianos, good acoustics

**Yachi Hitoka**  
Okay!

**Oikawa Tooru**  
But they don't live in the city  
Wow that was quick.

**Yachi Hitoka**  
That's okay!! If there's a bus from the station I can get there

**Oikawa Tooru**  
Thanks. Can't concentrate at school  
Ew why would you take a bus aren't they gross?  
Main entrance at 8 tomorrow I'll give you a ride

 

* * *

 

Oikawa is silent on their drive out of the city, which gives Yachi plenty of time to consider jumping out of the car window. The only thing keeping her seated, she thinks, is the sheer volume of worries that weigh her down.

_A strange place that's far away with strangers who'll hear us play I'm not family I shouldn't bother them why am I oh why did I just say yes I should've thought—_

Once these thoughts break her defenses, she's flooded with _there's no time the competition is too soon my recital is too soon what should I be practicing for when is that history paper due _—__

This type of thinking haunts her all the way to their destination; she doesn't come out of her anxiety-fueled daze until Oikawa says, "You don't have to take your shoes off. We never really got into that."

They're in a marble-floored foyer, looking at a stunning view of the city from above through a wall made entirely of glass. There are hallways to her left and right, and a staircase that spirals up around the perimeter of the room.

Oikawa disappears down the hallway to their left without a word, and Yachi is rooted to the ground wondering if she should follow. She senses this dark feeling about him that makes her want to turn around and leave; besides, this is someone's home, not a practice room or classroom at school where she can just go inside without invading someone's privacy.

_Shimizu-senpai has the day off, maybe she wouldn't mind picking me up here once I figure out where we are... ?_

But there's something about this _space_ that clears her mind. The cool, white marble mixed with warm oak accents brings a sense of balance to the foyer. And _that view_. She had no idea the city felt so stifling until now—standing there high above and far away from the huge skyscrapers and overwhelming noise and endless traffic makes her feel calm, settled.

"Nyan."

A little black cat wearing a cone emerges from the right hallway. It moves slowly—there's some kind of bandage on its tail. Still, it crouches and does some sort of butt shake and then—

"Eeeeeeek!" Yachi shrieks. The cat flies halfway across the foyer and lands on top of her. There's a painful scramble of cone and paws and claws until the cat successfully drapes itself over her shoulder.

It sits down in her arms and bats at her face—thankfully, no claws this time. She crouches down to let the cat—

_Bat-bat-bat-bat-bat_

Its paws go double time until she stands back up.

She takes a careful step forward.

_Bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat_

"Okay, okay," she says. "Ummm..."

She sidesteps to the left.

The cat purrs.

"Are... you... Oikawa-san's cat?" she asks.

It stares at her.

_Why did I expect this cat to answer..._ Yachi thinks, embarrassed. But she lets the cat act as a purring, face-bopping dowsing rod ( _for Oikawa-san, hopefully_ ) and ends up in front of a closed set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Oikawa almost falls off his piano bench when Yachi goes inside. He takes huge steps across the room, almost runs—for a moment, she's convinced that _he's_ about to jump on her.

" _Pouncy!!_ What did they _do_ to you?!" Oikawa exclaims, and the cat slides into his open arms. "Was it Nee-san? She's such a mean aunt, isn't she. Yachi-san's _much_ better, huh."

He mouths a 'thank you' at Yachi and _Smiles._ She sees and forgets to giggle at this scene before her, feels her heart beat just a little bit faster at this expression that puts all of his other smiles to shame, and _oh, I wonder if this is how Iwaizumi-san feels?_

Oikawa coos at the cat for a few more moments, freezes, looks at Yachi, and clears his throat.

"Ahem. Warm up on natural minor scales. Don't use my piano, use the one on the right. We're doing a full run-through when I get back."

And with that, Oikawa heads for the door. Pouncy hops to the floor and trots next to him with a bounce in his step and without a care in the world.

... Yachi feels a mild headache coming on. _Well, he is Oikawa-san's cat..._  The headache comes bundled with a strong urge to throw something, preferably at whoever is responsible for Pouncy's personality, and  _yep, this_ must _be how Iwaizumi-san feels._

 

* * *

 

As Yachi settles in, she takes her first real look around.

_This can't be someone's house,_ she thinks. _This is a recital hall!_  Granted, there's no tiered stadium-style seating. But the ceiling is outfitted with acoustic panels, and the polished, wooden floor is the same as what you'd find on almost any stage.

Or maybe it's a showroom, _that's it,_ because there are _five_ instruments on display—two grand pianos, a harpsichord, a fortepiano, and a mahogany baby grand decorated with carvings and gilded edges.

(She pictures herself tripping and falling on top of the harpsichord and wonders if paying debts through indentured servitude is still a thing.)

Like the foyer, this room is a peaceful, well-designed space. The two side walls have large clerestory windows that brighten the room without exposing the instruments to direct sunlight. They're grounded by shelves upon shelves of books and sheet music, and an alcove with comfy-looking chairs that are well-positioned for listening to the pianos. She finds herself hoping Oikawa gets to come here often. It's a space for thinking, for healing.

"These were my dad's." Yachi hears Oikawa's voice behind her; he's leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and a toothy grin. "Pretty cool, right? You should play some of your Bach on the harpsichord. It was written for harpsichord, for one thing, and it'll help you understand that fugue texture you've been struggling with."

"Ah!" a woman's voice exclaims. "Tooru actually brought someone!"

Oikawa turns around and says, "Oh my _God_ Hiroko please put some clothes on."

The newcomer is a young woman with a towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair. "Ooh, I'm in trouble if Tooru's using my name~ Call me Hiroko-neesan." She winks, and Yachi sees the family resemblance.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. "You are way too old for anyone else to call you that."

"I'm only thirty, Poophead—"

"Thirty's too old for the word 'Poophead'!"

"Okay, that's _it._ " Hiroko takes the towel out of her hair, rolls it up, and smacks Oikawa on the head over and over. He takes off running, and she follows with startling speed and dexterity for someone trying to keep her towel on at the same time.

Yachi laughs for the first time today. _I'm glad I stayed,_ she thinks. _Maybe_ _... this place is good for both of us._

 

* * *

 

"Oikawa-san? Should... we start? Are you okay?" They'd settled in at the pianos and were ready to begin, but Yachi finds Oikawa looking wistfully into the distance.

"Oh," Oikawa says, still gazing somewhere far away. "I was just thinking about how Iwa-chan used to call me 'Shithead' and 'Shittykawa', and I kept telling him to switch to 'Poophead'."

He sighs, and it's full of a dreamy, junior-high-girl-writing-her-crush's-name-on-her-notebook sort of melancholy that kind-of-sort-of makes Yachi want to call him one of those nicknames right now.

Granted, she knows that Oikawa is upset about the rejection from Iwaizumi (to her surprise, he'd told her that himself, one day). And she has all the sympathy in the world for him because—even if (and that's a big _if_ ) there are no personal feelings involved—she knows how important the competition is to him. Not being able to play with the accompanist you want, she thinks, must make things even more stressful.

So she was thrilled that this house and Pouncy and Hiroko seemed to lift his mood... until, apparently, the word 'poophead' triggered his slump.

_Really?? "Poophead", seriously??? There's no way, right??????_

"Third movement, then?"[1] she suggests, but inside she's secretly wishing Hanamaki was here to make good use of the Oikawa Exception in his no-swearing campaign.

 

* * *

 

They begin to play, and Yachi ends up in this all-too-familiar place. 

For the fourth, maybe fifth time this week, it starts under gray skies with an angry mob of crows flying overhead—thrashing and clawing and ripping out each other's feathers.

Feathers as dark as midnight, like the black rose petals caught in the dead branches and thorns lining the path to the castle.

She hurries through the main gate.

This time, she doesn't trip on the broken tiles inside, refuses to let the thick cobwebs slow her down on her way to the great hall—she knows all the pitfalls and twists and turns in this castle now, although she wishes she didn't.

By the time she gets there, she's exhausted from dodging rubble and tiptoeing through broken glass. But, she still has a job to do—an important one, commissioned by the king himself. She pushes magic through her fingers, conjuring up the sights and sounds of a grand banquet. There's a minstrel with his lute, a troupe of jugglers, servants rushing to and fro with platters of perfectly prepared delicacies, and guests—

With an ear-splitting _CRACK!_ two of the stained-glass windows high above explode. Red, green, gold, and blue glass shards rain onto the tables, the food, the people—they, too, shatter into hundreds and thousands of broken pieces.

"Hey."

A cold, sharp chill runs down Yachi's back when she hears the word brush against her ear. She resists the urge to run away, forces herself to turn around and face the king.

He's as handsome and regal as he was the first time Yachi saw him a year ago, the mysterious prince who alone conquered more land (and more women, some say) than any before him.

But now, Yachi sees a king who imprisons himself inside his own castle. The bags under his eyes and the way he rubs his wrists speak of overwork, pushing himself well past his limits. The fleur-de-lis on his crown are warped and bent, and his white, velvet cape no longer shines like the moonlight. It's matted, now, and a dull gray from the buildup of dust and grime.

"Oikawa-san," she says. It's almost a whisper, but she knows he can hear. "You can't keep doing this."

"Draw the curtains and get rid of the rest of these people, will you?" Oikawa replies. "I have a headache, and it's too bright and noisy in here."

Ever since she entered the king's service, she has always followed his orders. Why shouldn't she, when he never leads her astray? That same sense of duty and loyalty guides her insubordination, now. Her hands are steady, and a strange sense of confidence flows through her when she restores the festivities all around them.

"We've had this banquet since the very beginning," she tells him. "And it's always so amazing! If you don't like parts of it, I can change the food or the decorations or anything. Anything, as long as we can still celebrate."

Oikawa looks at her and sighs. He tosses his crown behind him and runs his hand through his hair.

"Maybe we should go back to the Rachmaninoff," he says.

They lift their hands—Yachi from disappointment and Oikawa with defeat—and everything vanishes into

 

  
nothing.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Until,

 

"But the Beethoven sounds really, really good. And it fits you better."

 

 

 

* * *

  
Oikawa knows that voice. _Of course_ he does, even after not hearing it for... _how long has it been? A really long time... ?_

"Yachi-san!" he hisses, but his eyes are glued to the door. "Did you tell him to come here?"

"No! I don't really even know where we are!" she replies.

"Right. Sorry. Hiroko, then. I'm gonna kill her," Oikawa grumbles.

Then, he bites his lip and says—squeaks, rather, "Iwa-chan, what, how, why are you here?"

Iwaizumi flushes red and walks out of the room... and then gets stiff-armed back inside by none other than—

Oikawa hits his forehead with the heel of his palm. "Elise, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm protecting my investment, you asshat." Elise adjusts her glasses. "There's no way in hell I'm giving you any work when you play like this."

_Well, can't argue with that. If I was in her position, I'd do the same thing,_ Oikawa thinks. _But..._

"Why Iwa—"

Elise snorts. "Do you know how many students I had to talk to, just to find out your problem is that neither of you can grow a pair?"

"Hey!" Iwaizumi protests.

" _Two_ students," says Elise. "Two. One to get the full idiotic picture, and another one to confirm. Took me three minutes. What did the two of you do, wear signs that said 'I'm a sad, pathetic mess because I can't talk about my feelings?'"

"I already know his feelings—" Oikawa begins.  
"That's what I've been trying to do since the intervention, damn it!" Iwaizumi says, at the same time.

"You've _been trying_ to? Oh my God you're gonna rub it in?" Oikawa yells.

_Wait, did he just say intervention... ugh, irrelevant. Irrelevant. Stop being curious._

Iwaizumi makes a choking sound. "What, hold on a sec, you know? _That's_ why you don't wanna talk to me?" His face twists into a bitter grimace. "Shit, what the hell was I thinking... hah, thanks, Oikawa. Really. No sarcasm. This is kinda better than an actual rejection—"

_Why are you making that face? Stop it, stop_

_... Why did I just think that?_

Oikawa glares at him. _It's your fault, it always is, for making me think and feel stupid things—_

" _Ugh_ can you at least try to make sense once in a while? You rejected me, remember?"

"What? No!" Iwaizumi yells. "Why the _fuck_ would I—wait a minute."

Elise sighs. "Annnd he gets it. Fucking _finally_. You, come on." She points at Yachi and waves her over. "They're setting up tea in the kitchen."

 

* * *

 

Silence hangs heavy in the piano room once Elise and Yachi leave.

Iwaizumi speaks up, first, and the tone of his voice startles Oikawa. It's plain. Too straightforward, too sincere.

"If you know I like you, why would you think I rejected you?"

_What?_

"Noooo," Oikawa replies, "you... don't... like me. You hate the way I play." He wants to sound casual, detached, like he's stating a simple fact. 

(He ruins the effect when he pouts.)

"Hang on," says Iwaizumi. "okay, is _that_ why you keep avoiding me?" He laughs to himself. "Are you serious? That's what you think, Jesus, is that all this is?"

_Wait, stop, what are you doing, don't come over here_

Oikawa wants to step back, maybe even run away. Iwaizumi's headed for him with too much intensity, eyes saying something he's not sure he wants to hear, and it's just... _too much_.

(But he forgets how to move his legs and ends up just standing there.)

Iwaizumi shakes his head. He's chuckling a bit. "I can't believe I'll have to thank the crazy lady who kidnapped me."

Oikawa blinks, and all of a sudden Iwaizumi is _less than an arm's length away_   _when did he get here_ with face flushed and eyes bright. He's shy for a moment, turning his head away, but then he faces Oikawa head-on and Oikawa is _trapped_.

_I need to get out of this goddamn oven,_ Oikawa thinks, but all he can do is fidget and bite his lip.

"I just," Iwaizumi begins, "God, I know you don't feel the same way, and maybe you'll hate me even more when I say this, but I'll be pissed at myself forever if I don't."

He takes a deep breath. "I like you. A lot. Have for a while, now. It sucks when I can't talk to you, and I mean, I got pretty used to seeing you all the time, so—"

_What?_

"I-I don't care," Oikawa blurts. His mouth is dry. "You can't like me but not like how I play. It's, this," he points at the pianos, "this is who I am."

Iwaizumi snorts. "You're really, really dumb sometimes. Why would you ever think I don't like how you play?"

Oikawa's very, very confused. "Um, you won't play for me because you can't stand listening to me. Obviously."

"That's not—" Iwaizumi falls back to one of his deepest frowns. "Yeah, I can't play for you—"

Oikawa scoffs to hide... a lot of things. "Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time."

"—because I don't wanna mess you up. But just give me a little more time, I'll get better, I'm working on it—"

_Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait_

"Wait. Because... So you don't... hate my playing... ?" Oikawa asks.

He hears way, way too much hope in his own voice. _So fucking embarrassing, God._

"Damn it, Oikawa, how can you think—" Iwaizumi looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. "I really, really love how you play."

_What what what what what what what what_

_Oh god ohmygod what the hell what is this what did he just say_

_This isn't fair you can't do this_

Oikawa throws his hands up in front of his face, trying to hide whatever stupid shade of red his face is right now, squeezes his eyes shut to shield himself from all _this, whatever this is_  coming from Iwaizumi. _There's so much. Too much._

"Wh—wh—" Oikawa wheezes. "What, you can't just say,  _what am I supposed to do when you say something like that?!_ "

(He can't resist peeking through the spaces between his fingers.)

Iwaizumi shrugs. "Just do whatever you do when someone gives you a compliment, I guess?"

Oikawa doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Iwaizumi blinks. "Hey. Oikawa. What the hell?" he laughs. "Why are you hiding, you idiot? Come on." He tries to nudge Oikawa's hands away from his face.

And Oikawa's hands betray him for the first time in his life.

They don't resist when Iwaizumi guides them away from his face, back down to his sides.   
They twitch when Iwaizumi lets go.  
His fingers drum on his legs, complaining about not having anything to do.

"Wh—what do you want from me?" he asks. 

Iwaizumi says, "Nothing. The only thing I want right now is to know you don't hate me."

In a final act of defiance, Oikawa's fingers go rogue and curl themselves around Iwaizumi's hands.

Iwaizumi looks at their hands, then at Oikawa, then at their hands again. "Can I take this as a 'No, I don't hate you'?" he asks.

_Stop smiling. Stop it. Stop._  
_I hated you once. I think. Right? Why can't remember—oh, yeah._

"I hated you when you played the Liszt excerpt in studio," Oikawa grumbles. "Then I stopped when I found out you were an idiot."

"Oi—"

"Promise you're not lying. What you said earlier about my playing. And you won't lie in the future."

"Huh? Jeez, you seriously think I was just saying—"

" _Promise_."

Iwaizumi looks startled, but he says, "I promise. Everything I just said is true. And I won't ever lie about your playing."

"... I want you to like listening to me," Oikawa mumbles, focusing his gaze on their hands. After a pause he adds, in a voice that dwindles down to nothing, "'Cause then you'll always stay next to me, and then I can listen to you whenever I want."

Iwaizumi turns his head away. He takes one of his hands back from Oikawa, makes a fist, presses it against his lips. 

"Your ears are really red," Oikawa observes. "Almost purple."

Iwaizumi covers his eyes and takes long, slow breaths. He's flustered, tripping over his words. "Did you, you just said al—ah, shit. Of course, damn it, I mean, I still don't get why someone like you would, someone like me... God, Oikawa, you're such an idiot. Just tell me and I'll be there, wherever, whenever—"

Static buzzes in Oikawa's ears.

(" _I promise I'll play for you every day, whenever you want"_ )

Those words, from a vague memory, ring hollow inside his heart. He feels sick. 

"Iwa-chan, don't."

Iwaizumi peeks at him, face scarlet. "... Iwa—you calling me that should be annoying, but God, it's fucking cute."

Oikawa drops Iwaizumi's hand and crosses his arms. "Did you just say I'm cute and insult me _in the same sentence_ I'm not calling you that anymore!"

"Good." Iwaizumi crosses _his_ arms. "Now I don't have to worry about getting used to it."

"Fine."

"Okay, then."

"..."

"..."

"Hey, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi looks horrified. "What the, you, Oikawa you _just_ said—"

"I don't care if you like me or think I'm cute or whatever, remember?" 

Iwaizumi looks down and shakes his head. "What is wrong with me..." he says to himself.

Oikawa squints at him and changes the subject. "Why did you say the Beethoven is better for me? Earlier."

"Oh, I mean, it's called the Emperor, right? That concerto. It suits you, I guess."

Oikawa smirks. "Because I'm so poised and dignified on stage? Why thank you, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi looks confused. "No, it's more like... the king can order people around, right? So in the beginning you only let the orchestra play one note before you go showing off. For a long time, too. Then when they try to play again, you do the same thing."

Oikawa shoves Iwaizumi. "Oh my God you're so rude I am not like that!"

"I mean, I kinda like it." Iwaizumi shrugs.

Oikawa's face burns. He says, "Stay with—stay for another hour or two. To listen."

At the same time, Iwaizumi asks, "Can I listen to you guys practice before I go?"

Oikawa smiles in spite of himself. "Yeah. You should. By the way, I want you to play some of that Corelli on the harpsichord, I'm curious about how different ours sounds from the one at that church _whooooaaoof_ Iwa-chan what the hell—"

One moment, Oikawa's talking, and in the next, a hand tugs hard on his arm and he's falling forward—

He doesn't hit his face, but his chin does clip Iwaizumi's shoulder. It hurts. His face is burning, still burning, and he can't move. Maybe because of the arms wrapped tightly around him, but probably because his body apparently decided it's pretty happy here and won't budge.

"Just, shut up for once and let me have this one," Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa feels the words tickle the side of his neck and he _shudders_. He can't bring himself to move his arms—they're glued to his sides—but he leans into the hug, relaxes, and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Two pianos play as one in the opening of the Mozart D major sonata,[2] and everyone in the kitchen stops drinking tea and eating desserts to listen.

Yachi hears laughter mingle and imagines one of Iwaizumi's very-obviously-fake frowns crumbling in the wake of Oikawa's smile, their fingers dancing in tandem the entire time. _They're okay now_ , she thinks. _Better than okay. This is amazing—nothing like how Iwaizumi-san and I played it. This is—_

"... Flower nymphs. Roses, obviously. White roses," says Elise.

Hiroko closes her eyes. "Dancing on ice. It's snowing, but there's sunlight and—"

"Everything sparkles," says Irihata.

Hiroko's fork hits the floor with a _clink-clink-clinkclink-nk-nknk!_ Her hand is shaking.

"Why do they sound like—Elise, tell me who the _hell_ you brought here!" she demands.

"I had no idea this kid... I have no data on him. Never saw the need," Elise replies. Yachi is surprised that even someone like Elise can sound like she was caught off guard.

Irihata places a calming hand on Hiroko's arm. "History won't repeat itself," he says. He wears a gentle, reassuring smile, but it's offset by the worry in his eyes and the furrow between his brows.

_I don't think I'm supposed to be here,_ Yachi thinks. 

Hiroko takes a deep breath and looks at her. "Sorry. You must think we're crazy... how do I say this? The thing about my brother... without her, he was frigid, as cold as ice. And without him, she was wild and out of control. But together, well," she laughs ruefully. "You can listen for yourself."

Yachi knows she's missing something. _Who, why did something like this come up? What does this have to do with Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san?_

"I'm sorry, I don't understand—"

"My brother is dead," Hiroko says over her, "and my sister-in-law—to me, to Tooru, she doesn't exist anymore. So  _I_ don't understand _how_ I'm sitting here like I'm in junior high again, listening to them play together for the last time."

"I'm the least musical person here," says Irihata, "but even to me. Those boys "have" their music, if that is the right word. The music made by the two most brilliant pianists I've ever known."

"In other words," says Elise, "Tooru's parents." She hands Yachi a second slice of pie. "Which means this is agency business. Tell me everything you know about Iwaizumi Hajime."

 

* * *

 

A seven-year old Tooru struggled to open the heavy, mahogany door to his mom's new bedroom without dropping his secret weapon for Operation Get Mom Out of Bed: the dome-lidded dinner tray he'd prepared and carried here all by himself.

This was their second week in Paris, but he still couldn't get used to these huge doors with fancy doorknobs and the expensive-looking artwork all over the place and having a chef ( _a chef!_ ) in this "apartment" at least three times bigger than the one they had in Tokyo.

But this was where his dad grew up, so Tooru resolved to keep trying and trying until it felt like home for him, too.

At last, he squeezed through the doorway and said, "Mom, mom, looklook _look_!"

His mom barely stirred from underneath the duvet, which he knew would happen—she'd been like this ever since they moved in. But a few days ago, he remembered his dad's 100% guaranteed way to get her out of bed and came up with this plan.

Tooru set the plate down on a chest of drawers, took off the cover, and fanned the rising steam with his hands.

"Wha—huh _meat!_ And cheese sou—Senpai?!" She half-stumbled, half-rolled out of bed, then just stood there in a daze until Tooru started to giggle.

"You're not..." She rubbed her eyes. "Wait, Tooru? Wh—what's happening, he's not, this, Tooru, where did you get this food?"

"I made it!" Tooru jumped on the bed and bounced up and down. "Chef-san is teaching me how to cook and bake and stuff and Lawyer-san is translating. Oh, they both think it's funny you like soy sauce with cheese."

"Tooru... did you just say, Irihata-san just stands there in the kitchen while you and the chef cook?!"

"I just said he was _translating_ , Mommy. You should listen better," he pouted.

"Oh my God Tooru! You..." She laughed, laughed for the first time since they came to Paris and Tooru thought it was the best sound he'd ever heard.

And then she picked up the bowl and inhaled the stew in three bites.

"Whoa!" Tooru's jaw dropped. "Is this what Daddy meant when he said you eat like a pig?"

"He what?!" She laughed again, then admitted, "I... might have tripled his grocery bill when we started dating..."

"Well, it's good Daddy was rich, then," Tooru said.

His mother frowned. "Tooru... please don't think that way. Money doesn't just make things okay."

"... Yeah, I know..." He scuffed a toe on the rug. "'Cause it won't bring him back."

He saw the look on his mother's face and covered his mouth with his hands. But even though her eyes welled up with tears, she smiled and said, "Have you ever thought about being a chef? Do you like it as much as piano?"

He shook his head no. "Cooking's really fun. But I like piano more 'cause you always look so happy when I play."

This time, she couldn't keep the tears away.

Tooru hopped off the bed and went to the piano. "Is Beethoven okay?"

Sonata no. 20[3] is the easiest of all Beethoven sonatas. Tooru liked that, because that meant he could focus on making fun places to visit when he played without worrying about fingerings and rhythms.

His favorite way of playing this sonata was to make it into a forest with all the animals getting together. But this time, he tried something different, something his mom would like the most.

Sure enough, she got into it just moments after he started to build a garden, conducting in the air and singing along with his playing once in a while. At the end, she clapped and cheered so much that Tooru felt embarrassed even though it was just the two of them in this room.

"Ah! You'll be better than me before you know it," she said afterwards. "But wait a minute, yours is totally different! I always thought this one sounded like a battle. Like a giant cannon goes _BOOM!_ in the beginning, and all the people scatter away. Then _BOOM!_ It happens again, but it's the enemy's side, and they start the battle. Horses start charging with those triplets, you know? And run over the enemies—"

"It's G _major_ ,[4] people aren't supposed to die," Tooru declared. "Mine's better."

"But mine's more exciting!"

"Well, okay, it could be a cool movie. But mine's a nicer place to go to."

She laughed and agreed. "Yeah, yours really is. I was always so bad at Beethoven, drove your dad crazy... ... Your sonata's at... is it a... wedding?"

"Yep! See, okay, there's a cool knight who comes in first, everyone likes him—"

"Because he just won a battle!"

"What? Nooo, because he did  _nice, friendly_ things with the other knights." (Tooru tried to sound mad, but his mom always laughed when he tried and that always made  _him_ mad... right now, though, he was okay with that.) "And then the second theme is where the faerie princess comes in. And even though there's a bad storm in the middle, they get married and everyone's happy at the end and they're having a party... somewhere. I don't really know where, yet."

"Ooh, I know!" She hopped out of bed and went to the piano. "How about this?"

In an instant, the room went dark under a starry night sky. There was the sound of clinking silverware and raucous laughter, humans and spirits dancing with wild abandon under the huge gazebo lit with will-o'-wisps mingling among the rafters.

The magic kept growing without restraint, and the garden around them erupted into roses as far as the eye could see. Petals in crimson red surrounded the glowing white gazebo, and the party sailed on and on through a sea of roses in the darkest, midnight black. 

Tooru giggled with delight. "See?" he said. "Yours is pretty and fun! It doesn't have to be a fight."

The music stopped. Her hands froze, suspended over the keys. "Someone like me can only do something like this because you showed me how to get here," she replied. "Just like your dad always did."

Tooru thought about this for a while before coming up with an answer. "Well, then, I'll learn how to play all kinds of stuff to show you! That'll make you less sad, right? I'll get really good and I promise I'll play for you every day, whenever you want, maybe we can even play together—"

She pulled him into a tight, crushing hug and kissed him on the top of his head. "God, this is all backwards... you're pretty amazing, Tooru, you know that? I'll be a better mom for you, I promise. Just... give me a little time, okay? Let me figure some things out."

He tried wiggling out of her hold, but she just squeezed him even harder. _You're already the best mom, you don't have to be better_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn't free himself from her arms.

Besides, there was a more important problem at hand. When she finally let go, he glared at her and said, "Could you be a better- _smelling_ mom maybe? You stink. Did you take a bath yesterday?"

"Ehhh? No, a few days ago... what day of the week is it?" She sniffed her armpit. " _Oh my God_ I stink."

Tooru laughed. "Gross!" he said, holding his nose and making a show of it.

His mom laughed a little, too. "I really need to shape up, huh. But I will, I'll do anything to make things better."

_You don't have to,_ he thought. _I just want you to feel better._ But she sounded so motivated, so confident.

He smiled and said, "'kay, thanks, Mommy."

 

* * *

 

"Iwa-chan..." Oikawa tries to scoot up to a better spot on Iwaizumi's back. "Why didn't you wake me up? I should've dropped you off, not the other way around. How are you gonna get home?"

They stop at Oikawa's apartment door. "I'll walk, my apartment's actually not that far away," says Iwaizumi. "You were already dead on your feet when we left your aunt's house, figured you could use the rest."

"I'm not _that_ tired. I can give you a ride home."

"... I thought you were too tired to go up those stairs?"

"..."

"... I'm never carrying you again." Iwaizumi crouches down, and Oikawa slides off with a small "Sorry, Iwa-chan." 

"Right," says Iwaizumi. He flicks Oikawa on his forehead and smiles a bit. "See you later?"

Oikawa puts himself between Iwaizumi and the stairs leading to the exit. "Wait, no, it's dark out, at least call a cab—"

"Are you crazy? It'll take me, what, less than ten minutes to walk. I can get two lunches with the minimum fare—"

"Oh my God stop complaining, I'll pay for the cab!"

"What? No! That's... weird."

"What's the big deal?"

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "We're not all made of money, plus, aren't you trying to save for after graduation?"

"..."

"Oh. Oh shit." Iwaizumi's eyes go wide, and he winces. "Oikawa, I didn't mean, I shouldn't. Not about money."

Oikawa looks down and says nothing.

_I know I'm spoiled, don't you think I know that?_  
_I'm trying, I won't let Hiroko pay for_ anything _as soon as I graduate, why else do you think I'm taking every piano job I get and throwing my life into this stupid competition?_  
_I wish I could change overnight, I really do._

He wants to say all this, wants Iwaizumi to understand. _Needs_ him to. But.

_Why does it hurt to argue with Iwa-chan, now?  
What do I want him to know?_

His chest feels too tight, and old feelings begin to surface.

_Fighting ruins everything._

"Hm," Oikawa says. "It's not something I think about very much, I guess."

"I," Iwaizumi replies, "I... don't want you to feel like you have to do anything  _for_ me. You shouldn't have to, ever."

"Iwa-chan..."

_I just don't want anything bad to happen to you when I can do something about it, that's all. What's wrong with that?_  
_Stay. There's a spare bedroom, stay and walk home in the morning. Eat breakfast here, if you want. Please?_

Oikawa laughs as he unlocks his door. "I'll remember that the next time you ask me to help you sightread something. See you later, Iwa-chan. Thanks for driving~"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Piano Concerto No. 5, Op. 73 (Ludwig van Beethoven) [Third movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPHrwmaZ9-w&feature=youtu.be&t=1856). [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Sonata for Two Pianos in D major, K. 448](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iePyP2HOr8) (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) Also in Chapter 4. [return to text]
> 
> 3 [Piano Sonata No. 20, Op. 49 No. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzZ22bGLSqc) (Ludwig van Beethoven) [return to text]
> 
> 4 Major keys tend to sound happy and bright, while minor keys are serious and dark.
> 
> If you know that REM song "Losing My Religion", [someone made it into a major key](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6KmiIq2-m8) and it sounds... creepily happy.... 
> 
> In this fic some major key pieces are the Mozart Iwaizumi plays at the beginning and the Mozart sonata in this chapter; Suga's Julie-O from studio class; Oikawa's Beethoven concerto. 
> 
> Minor key pieces are Oikawa's Transcendental Etude from studio class; Rach 2; Corelli's La Follia (even though Oikawa and Iwaizumi don't quite play this with a serious feeling...)  
> [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Someday, _someday_ I'll get through ~~yelling iwaoi things at all of you~~ replying to comments.
> 
> I have a bunch of deleted scenes now that I might put in a separate fic, either while this one runs or afterwards? This section was originally not Oik/Yachi POV, so there are things like The Intervention, Elise kidnapping Iwa, how the Runa/Makki relationship starts, a fluffy flashback that includes Hiroko (esp since the remaining ones = 0 fluff)... decision later. Stay tuned!
> 
> * * *
> 
> *** The foyer and piano room are inspired by [the recital hall at the Cleveland Institute of Music](https://imgur.com/a/fXkRj) and [this picture](https://imgur.com/a/BMqPe).


	12. Sotto voce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To play as if speaking quietly; hushed, in undertones.

Oikawa sits among the ruins of kingdoms come and gone, building up the castle's foundation once again. The bricks are smooth and pristine, each one cut with precision and skill. Yet they're not perfect—a fact he still can't fully accept.

But his errors are down to mere millimeters. He compares one of these bricks in his hand to the rubble at his feet.

_How did I ever think that mess was good enough?_

By now, just five days before the competition, the opening of the concerto is solid, consistent, precise—the product of lessons learned from past failures. It delivers a carefully balanced mix of Beethoven's intent and of canon established from the past hundred years of legendary performances.

It's exactly what judges look for in a competition. Oikawa should know—by the time he was twelve, he was rubbing elbows with at least half of the judges active in Paris. He knows their preferences and habits and their children's names.

 _... And then I moved to another_ continent _and stopped competing for oh, six or seven years._

_I've been out of the loop for way too long, haven't I._

The competition is in five days, and Oikawa feels like he's about to take a test he never studied for.

 

* * *

 

Yachi sits on a bench outside an occupied practice room, waiting for Iwaizumi to arrive. Her fingers can't resist tapping along with the bits and pieces of the Beethoven she hears through the door. Other than that, it's quiet. It's the final week of second term, and most students are cutting down on practicing in order to study.

(Most. Not all.)

Next to her, Sunakawa waits for Mina while she searches for a lost textbook. He's writing some news bulletin for the school website—it sounds interesting, really, Yachi thinks, something about special events this week. But all her attention and energy is spent wishing Oikawa would just _stop playing like he promised he would._

A foreign set of noises invades the space. It puts Yachi on edge, even though the sounds are nothing special. There's the clatter of aluminum cans inside a rustling plastic bag, the jangle of a set of keys for an elementary school nearby, the squeak of wet rubber on tiled floor with every step.

She doesn't know why she thought "invade", because it's Iwaizumi walking down the hallway now— _the_ person she wants to see. The person she called when her own efforts failed, because _who else can make Oikawa-san stop?_

(But.)

It's Iwaizumi—carrying a couple of full plastic bags from a certain convenience store. Yachi's never been there, but she's been seeing those bags every day ever since Oikawa's home-cooked meals gave way to packaged rice balls and milk bread.

It's Iwaizumi—without a pencil to throw or rolled up sheet music to give Oikawa a solid _whap_ on his head so _"he'll remember he's a person and not a piano robot."_

It's Iwaizumi—arriving one minute earlier than promised, which is a very Iwaizumi thing to do... _But he's not here to help, is he._

_Why?!_

_Why are you, of all people, encouraging him?_  
_Why won't you stop him when I know you can?_  
_When_ you _know you can?_

_Why are both of you doing exactly what you're not supposed to do?_

It's too much. When Iwaizumi says hello, she can only manage a feeble "But—"

He sighs. "Look, I know you asked me to make him stop... but not this time. It's, you know, the competition's Saturday and everything."

Sheer indignance helps Yachi find her voice. "But that's why he should rest!"

_Why do I even have to say this to you?_

He looks away. "I'm not gonna argue with him his week. He knows what he's doing, I mean, he's probably competed a million times before."

Yachi can't read the frown on his face. _Who is it for? What does it mean? Why can't I understand you right now?_

With Iwaizumi and Oikawa in an unspoken alliance, she can't help feeling like a bad friend—the person stirring up trouble, one against two.

"Look..." Iwaizumi adjusts his grip, gets a better hold on his bags. "I know he shouldn't be playing a lot, but he's not going to sabotage himself. Not now. This is too important."

_No, no, this is wrong... The whole problem is Oikawa-san thinking he won't sabotage himself!_

_What else can I say or do..._

She tugs on Sunakawa's sleeve, hoping he'll be an ally and not make this one-against-three.

He shuts the lid on his laptop, lowers his hood and stares, unblinking, right into Iwaizumi's eyes. Yachi finds it unnerving, and she's not the one on the receiving end.

"Iwaizumi-senpai. You have something to say about all of us doing things that seem harmful or dangerous. But not him?"

The frustration is clear in Iwaizumi's reply. "No, this is different, you see that, don't you? Sugawara really will mess up his eyesight from his setup in that office right now. Mina-chan won't pass juries[1] if she keeps changing her mind on what she wants to play. You're gonna burn out if you don't quit one of your jobs. Nothing's gonna happen to Oikawa. He's been doing this kind of thing since forever."

"He's had a wrist injury before," Yachi says quietly.

"Wait, what? Seriously? I thought, didn't he, I mean..." Iwaizumi trails off, and Yachi silently prays that he's coming to his senses.

Instead, he says, "Damn it, you guys, I'm not here to argue with him. Don't wanna stress him out even more. And we don't even know if he got that  _whatever-_ he-had from piano."

Sunakawa shakes his head. "Is this really what you want to do? Will it make both of you happy, or just him?"

There's only the crunchy rustle of plastic bags in the awkward silence; Yachi sees that Iwaizumi's fist is clenched so hard that his arm is shaking and his knuckles are white.

His voice is soft and low when he answers at last. "Sunakawa... you're lucky, you know that? You've had, what is it. Fifteen years? Fifteen years of proof that Mina-chan won't get so mad or bored that she leaves and never comes back."

The look he gives Sunakawa now is a dare, Yachi realizes. _"Come on. Tell me I'm wrong."_

Sunakawa starts to speak, but he ends up pressing his lips together and looking down.

"The worst thing," Iwaizumi continues, "would be Oikawa really hurting himself. But the second worst... if he doesn't let me help him, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

(It's a rhetorical question, but the lack of an answer right now is like the final nail on a coffin.)

Yachi closes her eyes because she doesn't know what to do or say or think in this awful, confusing mess.

After a few moments, she hears more sounds—all of them unsettling and wrong:

The click from the latch from the door swinging open; a soft "Iwa-chan?" from inside the room; the word "sorry," laden with guilt, whispered by the person who was never supposed to say it; and one more click of the door that will not open for anyone else, tonight.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa turns toward the door the moment Iwaizumi opens it.

"Iwa-chan," he whispers.

They're looking at each other now, but his fingers are still moving. _Can't stop, can't stop,_ part of him thinks. _Why stop for anyone, anything—_

_But it's Iwa-chan._

He tries again, tries to stop, but reluctance makes it feel like he's pulling his hands out of a thick pile of sludge—

"Hey, don't stop. Pretend I'm not here."

Iwaizumi's words wipe the keyboard clean.

And so Oikawa plays to the end of the line and stops.

"Iwa—but, wh, you're not dragging me out of this room like everyone else wants to...?"

Iwaizumi shrugs. "Yachi-san told me to come stop you from practicing, so I figured you were in for a long night." He lifts the bags of food and drinks for Oikawa to see.

Oikawa pulls his knees to his chest and talks into his arms crossed over them. "I thought for sure you'd be with her when she marched in here earlier and yelled at me." He's sulking, it's embarrassing, but he can't help it because _maybe Iwa-chan actually understands where I'm coming from?_

Iwaizumi blinks at him. "Whoa. She yelled? Isn't she a little bit more, uh, aggressive these days? Pretty sure you rubbed off on her somehow."

"Assertive," Oikawa corrects. "There's a difference. And don't say that like it's bad! ... Wait, I am not aggressive!" He throws his pencil at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi bats it away with a chuckle. "It's not a bad thing! Really. I'm kinda glad. I mean, I guess... thanks for helping her out. She's really into this accompanying thing. Like, she's gonna do it for real. And that's all from... You know you're the only person she's played for so far, right?"

Oikawa curls up again and hugs his knees tighter at the implication, hiding more of his face. "No, she's the one helping _don't say stuff like that,_  you sound like we're at a parent-teacher conference and it's _weird_."

"Uh." Iwaizumi makes a face like he just ate something bitter. "You'd be the teacher then, and there's no way I'd let my kid learn from you."

"Hey! Go away if you're gonna be mean!" But Oikawa forgets to act annoyed because he's pretty sure he just saw a box of caramels in that bag. "Leave all that stuff here, though. And come back when I need other stuff."

Iwaizumi laughs. He starts lining up all the snacks and drinks on a music stand turned flat. 

Oikawa can't stand all the _nice_ that's happening. "I still really don't get why you're doing this at... 11:30 on a school night. I didn't even ask you to come. And Makki said chamber music rehearsals are gonna be really intense this week, with those visiting teachers here."

Iwaizumi's expression goes soft, the sharp turns of his cheekbones and eyebrows and lips smoothing out to form a portrait that Oikawa maybe, probably, definitely wants to look at again and again.

...

_What am I doing?_

_(Can I even stop?)_

_I can, I can, this is the one thing I can control._

"Umm..." Iwaizumi scratches his head. "I guess, if you're gonna pull an all nighter or something, I just feel better if I can keep an eye on you. Stick around so I know you're doing okay. And I like listening. You already know that though."

Oikawa feels his heart beating just a little too fast. "You want to stick around? Stay here all night? To, uh..."

(He can't make himself repeat the words Iwaizumi said so easily. "To keep an eye on me." "To know I'm doing okay.")

"To listen?" he says.

"Yes? Of course I wanna listen. And how would I keep an eye on you if I'm not here? I have to work on this huge paper anyway. ... oh. Wait. Uh. If you're okay with me staying." Iwaizumi's matter-of-fact tone dwindles down to mumbled words. He looks away.

 _He does that a lot,_ Oikawa thinks. _Like he's embarrassed. It's cute._

Control flies out the window, and Oikawa's mouth starts saying something he never meant to. "I was gonna go home and practice there... The air's so dry at school. Come with me."

Iwaizumi drops a can of juice.

Oikawa cringes at himself, because his brain caught up to the situation and told him to. But he realizes there's nothing to cringe about. Instead, he feels something unravel inside his gut...

Relief. He's _relieved_. Relieved from anxiety held since Saturday, ever since he let Iwaizumi walk home alone that night.

It makes the rest easy to say: "There's an extra bedroom and everything. And your piano's a toy compared to mine, you can play on it when I take a nap."

_(You have to play for me. Let me listen to you. Maybe some Debussy like the first time? Or, what are you working on with Take-chan? Tell me, play for me.)_

Iwaizumi reaches for the juice and _misses_ as he tries to grab the can, but that's only one of the reasons why his face is flushed when he stands up straight again. "I mean, uhh... You sure? I won't be in your way? You're not, like, sleep-talking, are you? Or drunk?"

Oikawa rolls his eyes. "Iwa-chan, you're the _worst_ ," he says. "But..." 

He feels his own face heating up. It's a warning; he's going to say something embarrassing again but he can stop it this time—

...

He's in control, and he's going to say it anyway. The words come softly, gently, for the sake of his own too-raw, too-exposed feelings.

"The thing is, we're always playing  _for_ someone, aren't we? The audience, judges, your little second graders, those people who like to dance at that bar. The only time you're playing for yourself is when you're alone and you know no one's listening. So when someone tells me they like  _that_ , the music that's actually _mine_... that _means_ something."

"And, if I've heard that person's music and feel the same way? Yes, I'm sure. Come with me. Stay with me."

_(You said you were telling the truth. You promised. So help me believe you, because I really, really want to.)_

 

* * *

 

Oikawa flicks on the lights and steps aside for Iwaizumi to enter. "Well, this is me."

"Whoa." Iwaizumi whistles through his teeth. "It's so...  _clean._ Empty, almost. Where's all your stuff?"

Oikawa gives him a tired look. "I know that being able to see your walls and floor is a foreign concept to you, Iwa-chan, but some of us aren't giant slobs."

"Shut up! I dunno, I thought your place would feel more like... you. Warmer." Iwaizumi walks around the living room, running his fingers along the bare, unmarked walls painted stark white. "Maybe sheet music everywhere? An old record player and super rare records of piano concerts. A bunch of nice art and family photos hanging... hey, Oikawa?"

Oikawa had been so sure there were no cracks in the mask of calm he's wearing, but clearly he let something slip. "Don't worry about it," he says, ignoring Iwaizumi's frown. "I'm gonna start. Let me know if you need anything."

...

Oikawa lasts less than 45 minutes before he curls up on his couch and closes his eyes.

"Iwa-chan," he calls out. "Wake me up in 20 minutes? You waking me up will probably be  _slightly_ less unpleasant than my phone alarm."

He shields his head with his arms and braces himself for a solid _smack_.

Instead, he gets a pair of hands that carefully unfold his arms, a soft "get some rest," and a kiss on his forehead. 

(Oikawa has to spend the next 20 minutes pretending he's asleep.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's almost done already, I'll try to post it soon.
> 
> Have you all seen this? Official art with the hq boys as conductors [here](https://honyakukanomangen.tumblr.com/post/170186670268/standees-of-the-haikyuu-players-as) and [here](https://twitter.com/animehaikyu_com/status/945129206664511488/photo/1).
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1 It's the end-of-term test for your private lessons. You play in front of a panel of judges... at my school the judges are your private teacher, the head of your department, the orchestra conductor, and two professors who don't play your instrument. 
> 
> I heard someone describe it like "an audition, except nothing happens when you win. But if you don't then you fail school." So depressing...[return to text]


	13. Artificial harmonics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artificial harmonics: on some instruments, there is a range of notes that can only be played by using a specific technique on two completely different notes. These two are marked in the score, but the one you actually hear is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ Important! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ  
> In this chapter, dialogue spoken in French will be marked with <> angle brackets.
> 
> * * *

**This week at Momogaoka**

**Chamber Music with New Artists-in-Residence** [1]

Join us for a five-day chamber music series with Momogaoka's newest artists-in-residence: oboist Kuroki Yasunori and pianist Tatiana Vishnyova. 

Fans of Tokyo's Rising Star Orchestra will recognize the name Kuroki Yasunori as one of its co-founders. After graduating from the Tokyo School of the Arts, he became the youngest musician to win a principal chair in Paris's esteemed Roux-Marlet Orchestra. Kuroki-san has held the position for 15 seasons.

Russian-born pianist Tatiana Vishnyova is a graduate of the Paris Conservatory's undergraduate and post-graduate certificate programs. Her experience and expertise in collaborative piano are in high demand at chamber music festivals throughout France and Germany.[2] Currently, she holds an associate lecturer's position at her alma mater while maintaining a private studio in Paris.

In 2003, the duo began their joint career performing for a small circle of patrons in Paris. They built a strong following over the next decade, eventually expanding to southern France and and Germany. But it was their first-place finish at the 2013 Prague Music Competition that brought them international acclaim. Critical success during their tours in Central Europe and Southeast Asia in 2014 led to the release of their first studio album. Their second, featuring the music of Robert Schumann and Carl Nielsen, was released in 2016.

The two musicians are happily married and reside in Paris with their cat, Clara.

**Special Events**

Tuesday, 7:00pm: The Kuroki-Vishnyova duo will perform selections from "Schumann and Nielsen: Music for Oboe and Piano."

Wednesday and Thursday, 9:00am to 12:00pm: Small ensemble masterclasses[3] (Recital Hall)

Friday, 1:00pm to 3:00pm: Woodwinds masterclasses with Kuroki Yasunori (Room 248)

Saturday, 10:00am: Students' chamber music recital (Recital Hall)

All events are open to the public.

_Times and locations are subject to change. Please check our events calendar for up-to-date information._

 

* * *

 

Everyone at school calls the final week of term "hell week," and this week is no exception.

Oikawa, however, thinks this week is  _great_. After all, he's not "everybody": thanks to the competition, he's exempt from juries and recital requirements. He lucked out and didn't have any term papers to write, and even the most difficult comprehensive exam was just a watered-down version of the one for the fellowship application.

_And everyone's too tired to notice that Iwa-chan and I came to school together two days in a row~_

"OIKAWAAAAAAA!!"

_Makki?_

Hanamaki yells his name at the top of his lungs while sprinting all the way across the parking lot.

Oikawa gets ready to kick Hanamaki's ass. (Just one kick, though—he doesn't want to make an even bigger scene.)

_So much for people not noticing... Damn it, I really need to lay low today!_

Hanamaki runs into the side of Oikawa's car to stop his momentum, and Oikawa frowns at the two fresh handprints now on his window.

"This better be good," he says. "If you did all that just to laugh at me and Iwa-chan—"

"Ah, you!" Hanamaki jabs a finger at Iwaizumi. "Dude, where have you been?? We're playing in a half hour!"

Iwaizumi squints at him. "So... I'm here now, because we're playing in a half hour. What's wrong with that?"

"Uh," says Hanamaki, "you know this is a big deal, right? Didn't you hear them play last night? They're  _good._ I didn't recognize their names, but I looked them up and they're gonna teach at Aspen. _Aspen,_ " he repeats for effect.

Oikawa can't hide his surprise. "Whoa. Huh. That's a big one. They even teach in America now?"

"Awesome, right?" Hanamaki bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. 

"Um," Iwaizumi says, and the other two stare at him.

"We're talking about the Aspen Music Festival?" Oikawa grins and gestures at Hanamaki with his thumb. "Makki's been trying to get into it for two years."

"Oi!" Hanamaki starts to splutter. "Don't—talk—I'm gonna do it this year—audition—stupid—"

 _Ahh, right, Makki's weakness. Losing an audition... no, no, that's not how he sees it. It's more like,_ accepting _the fact that he didn't win an audition._

 _Heh. If he_ didn't _think like that, I'm not sure we'd be friends—_

Iwaizumi's voice interrupts his train of thought. "I still don't really. Um." 

It takes a while for Oikawa to get it. "Oh, right. I guess you guys don't really have to deal with festivals, huh. Every summer, there's—"

"Goddamnit, Oikawa,  _not now!_ " Hanamaki urges. "There're already a ton of people here waiting to see us. Plus, there's a problem, and _you,_ " Hanamaki seizes Oikawa's wrist, "need to come with us." He grabs Iwaizumi, too, and starts dragging them towards the building.

"Okay!" Iwaizumi struggles against Hanamaki's grip. "Jesus Christ, I'm coming! I know it's important at least, I practiced extra and everything." He looks at Oikawa and manages a small but sincere smile, and it makes Oikawa think about a conversation they had last night.

> _"Iwa-chan, why are you even practicing the Brahms? I picked that trio because it was the only one I could think of with_ _an easy, boring piano part_ and _a cool cello one. You can play it just fine, you're good enough."_
> 
> _"... Do you actually know how to give a compliment?"_
> 
> _"Just giving you the facts. Shouldn't you practice that shitty Fauré you played in studio?_ [4] _It's supposed to be a graceful dance. Try and play less like a gorilla, hm?_ "
> 
> _"Shut up! It was only shitty because some_ clueless dumbass _was ignoring me all week. Besides, that was just homework. Something to play in lessons. The Brahms... that's important. I don't wanna let those guys down. And I won't._
> 
> _"Fiiine. I'll play some of the cello and clarinet melody on violin, so stop adding stuff that's not in the score and practice your own damn part!"_

_He seems happy,_ Oikawa thinks, looking at that smile. _Proud of himself for putting in the time... good for him. I think he had fun practicing last night, too._

 _But then, what about_ you _, Iwa-chan? Is the Brahms really more important than the Fauré?  Are Makki and Runa-chan more important than you?_

_(Wait, does he ever smile like this when he talks about teaching?_

_Irrelevant—_

_—ah. I don't think anything involving Iwa-chan is irrelevant anymore. God. When did this happen?)_

Hanamaki's voice gets Oikawa out of his head.

"All right, Iwaizumi, you pass," he says. He lets go of Iwaizumi but keeps Oikawa trapped in his grip.

"Why do I have to come too?" Oikawa complains. "I'm not doing any ensemble stuff this year, you know that."  _And I reeeeally shouldn't be here today._

"Because we have a problem. One of the teachers, the lady. Vishi-, Vi-"

Oikawa's losing patience. He _just wants to go home._ "Just Tanya's fine," he snaps. "Get on with it, Makki."

"Uh... really?" Hanamaki scratches his head, looking concerned. "I thought her name... That seems kinda rude, is that a French thing? Oh man, so the oboe guy too? I seriously don't wanna call a dude by his given name. Especially 'cause he's Japanese."

" _Makki_."

"Right. Anyway, she doesn't speak Japanese. But he translates for her."

"Good." Iwaizumi laughs. "I thought you were gonna say we were supposed to learn a foreign language or something."

"Well, we would've needed to, but now," Hanamaki smacks Oikawa on his back so hard that Oikawa has a coughing fit. "Our new translator Oikawa's gonna help us!"

"What? No!" Oikawa braces himself and yanks Hanamaki back full force. "They sound fine, the way they teach, why do I have to translate anything?"

Hanamaki sighs. "The guy got sick or something so he couldn't come today. Now we're stuck with a teacher _—_ an _awesome_ teacher _—_ none of us can learn from because she only speaks French and Russian. And you're still, like, fluent, right? Our only other choice is Neko-sensei, but it kinda looked like he wasn't very good. He's trying to get a real translator right now, but we're not gonna wait around when we've already got you. "

Oikawa goes pale. He's the one grabbing Hanamaki, now, shaking him by the shoulders. "Wait, he, Kuroki got sick? He's seriously not here because he's sick? Is he okay?!"

Hanamaki's eyes go unfocused for a moment from his brain rattling inside his head. "Whoa, jeez, _okay_ uh calm... down... ? I have no idea, that's all Sensei told us."

Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa. "You speak French?"

"Shit, what happened? It must be bad..." Oikawa says to himself. Then, to Hanamaki: "No, no, um... I can't. Gotta go practice. Saturday, you know—"

"Nope." Hanamaki resumes his dragging. "I have it on good authority that you promised not to play at all this week and broke that promise  _on the first day_. Dick move, man."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll talk to Yachi-san later. So I'll study recordings. That are all at  _my place_."

Hanamaki lets go and looks Oikawa in the eye. "Look man, I know Saturday's a Big Fucking Deal and this is some random-ass thing I'm trying to make you do. And seriously I still owe you big time—"

" _Oh my God_  Makki, how many times do I have to tell you, you don't owe—"

"But I need your help just one more time. Please? I'm pulling the best friend card. Runa's already super bummed, she's actually heard of the guy and she really wanted to learn from him. And honestly? I am too. Not gonna do festivals and chamber music for a while after this, not 'til I get a real job first. Just one hour. If whoever's after us tries to make you stay longer, I'll shut 'em up."

 _It's not like I don't want to,_  Oikawa wants to say.  _But... I don't want to._

_But._

_I'd probably be stuck at some shithole university studying God knows what and only playing violin for fun if I never met Makki._  

And so he gives up and follows Hanamaki without a fight.

_Guess I brought this on myself._

 

* * *

 

When they arrive backstage, Runa's eyes light up. She jumps out of her seat and bows to Oikawa.

"Thank you so much for coming. It's really important to us. To me."

Oikawa looks around wildly while he blurts. "Oh God no please stand up I—"

A clattering  _clack-clack-clack_  noise—plastic hitting hardwood floor—makes Oikawa stop mid-sentence. Tubes of mascara and lipstick and eyeliner are rolling everywhere.

A woman stands and stares at the newcomers. Blonde hair and green eyes; not very tall; maybe in her mid-thirties. She's wearing leopard-print tights. Only one of her eyes is covered in purple eyeshadow, and her hands are still in place from dropping her makeup bag.

And then she's _coming right at them_ with hard, brisk strides and the deepest frown any of them have ever seen. She reaches for Oikawa and looks like she's about to box his ears, but instead she takes hold of his head and pulls him down to eye-level for inspection.

"Dude," Hanamaki whispers to Iwaizumi, watching her poke at Oikawa's hair. "Is this some kind of, I dunno, Russian ritual thing?"

"You're asking _me?_ " Iwaizumi whispers back.

"Tanya," Oikawa says.

She freezes. They're nearly nose to nose.

Oikawa takes a deep breath. <It's... me— _waaaait_ okay I _know_ you're mad, but first, what happened to Yassun? He actually got sick? >

Tanya releases him. She looks like she's about to explode from anger, or shock, or _both_ , but after a few moments she relaxes and sighs. <That crazy director of yours made us drink so much after our recital last night... that old man could party with my dad, no problem. But Yasu's so _delicate_. You know how he is. His idea of going out drinking is sitting in the corner and  _enjoying_ his _one_ tiny bottle of sake all night. Ridiculous."

Oikawa snorts and hides a laugh behind his hand.

Tanya rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. <So he's completely hung over and _so_  gloomy and depressed about missing anything music for the first time in his life. Other than that, he's fine.>

<Oh thank God.> Oikawa stops holding his breath and uncurls his fists.

<Look at you, still worrying about other people all the time.> Tanya ruffles his hair, and he shies away with a giggle. <Ever since— _WAIT_ you sneaky... How do I get mad when you're being nice!? Take off your shoe,> she says. <Your left one. Come on.>

_???_

Oikawa sees her remove both of her stilettos, so he obeys and sets his shoe aside.

<Tooru...> She holds him by the shoulders at arm's length, looks him up and down, gives him a fond smile that makes him think of freshly baked croissants on Sunday mornings and the oboe's "A" perfectly matching his piano the first time he ever played with an orchestra.

 _Amazing how guilt can feel like a punch to the gut,_  he thinks.

And then Tanya lifts her stockinged foot up high and  _stomps_  on Oikawa like _his_ foot's a giant cockroach.

"OW, what,  _Tanya!_ " he yells. He takes his foot in both hands and tries to rub the pain away. Iwaizumi is there in seconds, helping him keep his balance, while Hanamaki blocks him from Tanya's view.

Oikawa winces. "Thanks guys. But, ah, I deserved that."

(Hanamaki and Iwaizumi look more shocked now than when they saw their teacher attack Oikawa.)

"Holy shit. He's literally never said that before." Hanamaki tells Iwaizumi.

At the same time, Iwaizumi says, "Oikawa, do you actually know what those words mean?"

While Oikawa tries to make a face at Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, the two of them simply look at each other and nod. 

Then, they say in unison, "Please, go ahead." Hanamaki lifts his foot up and down to help Tanya understand. The two of them then step back with their hands out like they're restaurant hosts showing Tanya to her seat/Oikawa's foot.

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa exclaims, scandalized. 

Iwaizumi shrugs. "You just said that you're _supposed_ to get stomped on. I wanted to help make that happen." 

Tanya smiles at them. She mimes playing the piano and cello and points to the stage. 

Oikawa watches them leave. He sighs, thinking,  _They'll have questions. How do I talk my way out of answeriieEOOW—_

 _Stomp!_  < _Six years, > _Tanya exclaims, <and you don't email us once? Call? Anything? We thought you were dead, you idiot!> _Stomp!_  <That lawyer of yours, we ran into him at a cafe. _He's_ the one who told us you were in Japan. That's how we find out? We looked for you, but you even changed your name? What is this?>

Oikawa stares at her.  _Why do you look more sad than angry? Why did you even look for me?_

<Tanya,> he says, <honestly, I thought you guys wouldn't even remember me after a month or two, and if I got in touch, you'd be so mad that I just left like that....>

She covers her eyes and groans.<I'm mad because you  _didn't_  get in touch! Ohh, you're lucky you're still too pretty to slap.>

(So she stomps on him one more time.)

<After all those years, how could you ever think—don't you understand? We're _connected_ , people who are important to each other. And when you cut that off, it's like a rubber band. It whips back and hits us—> She flicks the back of Oikawa's hand. It's a tiny but sharp _and_ dull pain that tingles all the way to his fingertips before it disappears.  <It hits us because we're still hanging on.>

Oikawa winces, but not from the pain. <I'm sorry,> he whispers.

 _It wasn't supposed to hurt anyone._  
_I didn't think it would matter.  
Wa_ _sn't I just some brat who played at being an adult?_

_... These all sound like lame excuses, huh._

<The name thing, at least,> Oikawa says, <I swear it wasn't to cut you guys off or anything. I lived with my aunt and uncle when I came here, so using his name was easier. Fewer questions in high school and all that. Plus, I didn't want Mom to know where I am. I _don't_. >

Tanya says the next few words very carefully. <Even she doesn't know? ... I know your mother was not the best, but is that really okay?>

Oikawa snorts. <Hah, yeah, trust me. ... I should tell you what happened. Lunch? Can we go see Yassun too?>

<Mm. Bring your friends. They looked like they don't know anything about us.> She waves a finger at Hanamaki and Iwaizumi prepping on stage. <But you're close, right? They go to you for help, worry about you like that without thinking. Look at them. _That one's_  still watching you like a hawk.>

Oikawa stares at the floor and grumbles, <Yeah, they're... important. Too. That's why I don't want them to know anything.> 

When Tanya doesn't respond, he takes a peek at her and regrets it immediately. The last time she made this face was probably that one time when he was seven years old, at one of their first lessons. When he  _accidentally_ left some music at home and it just  _happened_  to be all the pieces he didn't want to play.

Her face was so terrifying back then that it made him cry. Now that he's an adult, though... He still wants to cry.

<Are you STUPID?> Tanya shrieks. <If you keep hiding things from your friends... do you want to have _this_ talk again? With _both of them_ , next time?> She throws her hands up in the air and yells something in Russian that Oikawa's glad he doesn't understand. 

<... no...> Oikawa says.

<Then—>

<I'll think about it.>

<No!> She grabs him by the collar, pulls him down to her height, yells, <I won't let you do this to your friends.  _Again!_ > 

<It's different!> Oikawa insists. <This has nothing to do with them!>

Both of them jump when Hanamaki appears out of nowhere. "They're gonna start letting people in soon." He holds up his phone for Tanya to show her the time.

There's an awkward silence hanging between the three of them.

<Makeup,> Tanya mutters after a beat. She goes offstage.

"Bathroom," Oikawa says. He goes in the opposite direction.

...

Hanamaki looks completely lost when he goes back on stage and starts re-tuning his cello just to keep his hands busy.

Runa asks, "What was that? Are they okay?"

"Might be bad," he replies. "Guess they know each other from Paris, you read that bio, right? Pretty sure that's still a huge red flag."

"Paris, yeah, I saw that," says Iwaizumi. "But what are you talking—what does Paris have to do with Oikawa?"

Hanamaki's hand slips, and he almost breaks a string on his cello.

"You don't know? That he lived there like, half his life?" He takes one look at Iwaizumi, freezes, and tries to backpedal over his words. "Ohhh-kay, clearly you did not know. ... I mean, now that I think about it, not that many people do. Like half a dozen of us maybe? One of 'em's Elise, did you hear about that lady who dragged Oikawa away after that timpani deal?"

"Yeah. I guess she sort of kidnapped me a few days ago?" Iwaizumi says.

Hanamaki nods sagely. "Yup, that's definitely her. She knows _everything._ And then two other people who know are family, so."

"Right, okay, yeah." Iwaizumi nods.

"I guess," Hanamaki continues, "I just thought Oikawa would've told you by now."

Runa kicks his chair.  _"You're so dumb what is wrong with you!"_ she hisses under her breath.

Iwaizumi laughs, but it sounds more like a dry, heavy cough. "Why would he tell me? I'm. Um."

"Ooh, tell you what?" Oikawa plops down next to Iwaizumi on his bench with a grin.

"Doesn't matter," Iwaizumi replies. "You okay though?"

After a pause, Oikawa says _—_ quietly, almost under his breath _—_ "Don't worry about it, Iwa-chan."

He leaves Iwaizumi at the piano and hops off stage to talk to Nekomata, all smiles and bubbly cheer.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. "Can't really worry if I have no idea what the hell's going on, can I."

 

* * *

 

After eight years of studying with his first ever piano teacher, Tooru "graduated" from her studio and started taking private lessons at the Paris Conservatory. But there was always a special bond between them, Tooru and Tanya—a student and his first teacher, a teacher and her first student. 

So now, they were friends. Friends who went out together almost every weekend—to go to the movies, to shop, and (his new favorite thing, and tonight's main event) to crash recital receptions.

Oh, and Tooru was also her boyfriend's biggest fan. Even when said boyfriend was being a party pooper.

It was Friday night, and Tanya and Tooru were getting ready to go out. Kuroki stood off to the side _—_ he knew getting in their way at a time like this was not good for his health _—_ so he settled for crossing his arms and sighing.

<Tanya, don't you think you're a little too old for this?> he asked.

<But Yasu, the one tonight's in a mansion!> Tanya whined. <Think about the buffet spread they'll have there.>

The three of them did think, and they shared that wistful look and sense of longing for things they could never afford, the one known to almost every student and professional of the arts and humanities.

Tanya snapped out of it first. <And just 'cause you're too old doesn't mean _I_  am.>

Kuroki deflected with a mild-mannered <You've been too old to be wearing a dress that short since you turned 18.>

Tooru giggled. Kuroki and Tanya were only two years apart. And he was 1000% sure Kuroki always stared at Tanya's butt for way too long when she wore short shorts and dresses.

(With zero experience in romantic relationships back then, it would take Tooru quite a while to realize this was probably why Kuroki didn't want her to wear that dress.)

They were such an awkward, quiet couple when he'd first met them. But these days, they were always laughing, or fighting, or laughing while fighting. It was fun to watch.

 _Were Mom and Dad like that too?_ _Maybe. Hopefully._

In any case, Kuroki already gave up on stopping them. (Not that he'd tried very hard.)

<Tanya, remember...> he warned.

She recited, <No flirting unless it's for getting a gig, no shopping on the way home.>

<Or on the way there. Tooru?>

Tooru rolled his eyes. <No drugs, no alcohol, no flirting unless it's for getting a gig. Or for more food.>

Kuroki groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose. <No flirting, period! You're _fifteen years old!_ >

Tooru winked at Kuroki with a look that spelled nothing but mischief, and Kuroki muttered something about "proper Japanese men" and "respecting elders."

On their way out, Tooru gave Kuroki a friendly punch on the shoulder. Tanya followed with a kiss on the cheek.

<Byee!> Tanya sang. <Don't practice too much.>

<I'll grab some good chocolate for you!> Tooru added.

Kuroki sighed and waved goodbye.

 

* * *

 

(Outside the recital venue.)

<Okay, what's going on tonight?> Tooru asked.

Tanya unfolded the flyer she grabbed from the Conservatory.

<Pianist. I've been hearing about her lately... a strange one. No one knows where she's from or who she studied with. But she's supposed to be _incredible_. Some people say she's the next Mitsuko Uchida. Can you believe it? A _second_ Japanese woman who's _that_ famous? >

<Eh?> Tooru tilted his head to one side. <More Japanese people need to be in the classical world, but is this person even Japanese? That name isn't.>

 _Well, technically, there_ are _those given names, I guess. That look Western in Roman letters. Erika, Ann, Karin._

He wouldn't've noticed this pianist's name, except—

<Eh,> Tanya shrugged. <She could be mixed. But nobody knows anything about that, either. Very mysterious. And—get this—apparently she performs all over France but never Paris.>

<Hn, > Tooru frowned. <Bad career move.> He was about to change the subject when he looked at the rest of the flyer.

<Whoa, look at what she played! Late Beethoven, Chopin, Rachmaninoff. That's  _heavy._ > Tooru was impressed—a program like this required real skill and stamina. He wouldn't be able to manage it, himself, not with this music: dark, dense, emotional. That was Tanya's territory. It's also why she'd been such a good teacher for him—he was the complete opposite. Mozart, early Beethoven: music for salons and dinner parties that filled listeners with delight.

Although... Impressed as he was, seeing Rachmaninoff on a program always annoyed him a little. No one, not even Tanya, could play Rachmaninoff as well as his mom.

Tooru furrowed his brows, thinking about this. _How did she play, again?_

 _I can't... remember?_  

Her sound was all muddled with his own playing, with Tanya's, and all of that with bits and pieces from recordings he studied and concerts he attended.

 _No, there she is._  He could still separate her from all the others in his mind. But just barely.

_When was the last time I saw Mom on stage? Right before we moved here, probably..._

_(When was the last time I saw Mom?)_

It was school that took up his weekdays, watching Roux-Marlet rehearsals his evenings, and Tanya and Kuroki who filled his weekends. It was his two new teachers at the Conservatory who praised and critiqued his piano playing, and random people on the street who cheered for him when he went busking with his violin. Chef-san who ate with him at home, Lawyer-san who dropped by to tell him how Hiroko was doing...

... and it was just him, alone, going for long walks at night whenever he couldn't sleep.

It wasn't ideal. But it was fine. He wasn't ever  _really_ alone when there was always music in the streets under the moonlight, music inside his piano rain or shine.

Besides. He was used to it by now.

(But realizing that made him feel a little sick.)

_She comes to my competitions, though._

That was the little ray of light he'd relied on for years, but junior high was tough and he had to study rather than compete.

Which is why his last major competition was almost two years ago, now. She stuck around for a bit longer than usual that time, and he talked her into playing Rachmaninoff for him.

One last time.

_That was it. That was the last time I heard her play._

And that was A Problem. He needed to change, to compete again, to hear her again. So he'd been studying like mad since, and it was _working_. Even the high school curriculum looked easy to him now; he'll have all the time in the world for competitions once the season starts.

<Tooru!> Tanya hissed from the shadows. <Why are you just standing there? We're early, and we're screwed if the caterers see us. Come on!>

They found a bench around the corner, where they could hear snatches of the recital still going on.

<Ugh,> Tooru grimaced. <Hey Tanya, you know how mannequins are really creepy when they actually look like people? This is like, Mom-ish but not really. It's gross.>

Tanya made a similar face, though for a different reason. <How do you even remember what your mother sounds like when she's never home? She needs to get a different job! Traveling so much, leaving you like that.>

<But,> Tooru pouted, <she has to work twice as hard 'cause she's by herself.>

<She's not by herself, she has you—oh, never mind. we've talked about this so many times. You know her best.> Tanya ruffled Tooru's hair, and his pout fell away. <Anyway,> she said, <I think we can go in now. Let's eat!>

Inside, Tooru saw a room filled to the brim with people, and a huge banquet table set right in the middle. Expert caterers wove their way through the crowd like they were taking a stroll down the street, carrying platters of _hors d'oeuvres_ that looked too good to eat. (He planned on eating all of it anyway.) There were even champagne and wine menus. _Plural_.

This was a much bigger event than Tooru or Tanya had anticipated. _Perfect_ , both of them thought, because it meant they could blend in and eat in peace without anyone asking their opinion on the recital they didn't go to.

About a half hour later, Tanya said, <Bathroom.>

Tooru laughed. <Finally. You already drank three glasses of wine!>

<I was hoping more alcohol would get in my system if I held it in.> She sighed. <Grape juice, all of it. You okay by yourself for a bit?>

He rolled his eyes. <Come on, what could happen at a piano recital reception?>

...

(As it turned out, at  _this_  particular piano recital reception, his entire life could come crashing down.)

...

It happened far too quickly, starting with a conversation accidentally overheard.

<Such a  _marvelous_  performance,> a man said. <I believe you truly captured that late Classical sound with the Rachmaninoff. And that light, delicate feeling we all associate with late Beethoven.>

Tooru almost choked on a piece of ham. Everything the man said was completely wrong.  _You can enjoy the music just fine without knowing any history,_  he thought,  _but don't go talking_ to the performer _like you do! Oh my God, Tanya and Yassun would love this._

<What a lovely compliment, thank you,> the performer replied.

Tooru was not looking forward to lying through his teeth like she just did, once he was famous enough for idiots to start spouting nonsense at him.

<The thing is, when I was in school, I was always so bad at Beethoven,> she said. <Drove my friends crazy.>

...

When Tooru's brain translated the words to Japanese and his memory reattached a voice to them, he froze.

 

 

First, a slight correction:

"I was always so bad at Beethoven, drove _your dad_ crazy."

...

...

...

...

...

  
And then he went

in

to 

autopilot _overdrive_ he looked lookedleft lookedright  _all over_  trusted his ears to find the voice  _pushed, shoved_ his way through a wall of people lined up at the bar and saw a greasy-looking man in a powder blue suit talking to—

"Mom?!"

 

 

A few heads turned, but Tooru only saw her.

She blinked at him, and then started listening to the greasy man again.

_What the... maybe—no, no, it's definitely her._

"Mom, did you just play here? How, what—"

<Student of yours?> the greasy man asked. <I didn't know you were bilingual, wish I had the talent—>

"Well then," Tooru said, resisting the urge to punch him in the face, the need to shake some sense into her. <What the hell is going on,  _Mother?_ >

Many, _many_ heads turned, and a low swarm of whispers filled the room.

Her expression was... still. Placid. Impassive.

 _Maybe it's really not her,_  he thought. He hoped. _Or it's some mask I can rip off her face, yeah, this whole room is fake too, it'll all disappear and she'll smile and sigh about not getting to eat everything on the cheese plate and we'll go home._

<I was not aware you have a child,> said the greasy man.

A new woman joined in. <I hope there's been a misunderstanding,> she said. <My article's already online.>

...

He felt like he was in a nightmare for a lot of reasons, but right now it was because he wanted to scream but couldn't do a goddamned thing.

Couldn't do a goddamned thing until his mother said, <No, just a neighbor's child I watch over. I apologize for the confusion.>

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

He _ran_.

Ran home and dug out an untouched checkbook from his desk, blindly shoved _whatever_ into a bag, and got a cab to the airport.

With bank problems and unanswered phone calls and travel delays, it took him almost 23 hours to get to the apartment in the heart of Tokyo that he still thought of as "home."

_I think Dad left the place to her, but does she actually live here? Did she sell it? It's probably worth a lot. Why didn't I ever ask Lawyer-san?_

He knocked, because he had nothing to lose and because he had some stupid, ridiculous, _absurd_ pipe dream that his parents would open the door and welcome him home.

The door opened, and  _thank God_  because she was the next best thing.

"Hey," Tooru said. "Sorry I missed your wedding. Guess I can't call you Hiroko-chan anymore, huh."

His knees buckled, and

 

 

 

(everything faded to black)

 

 .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 In this case it's when a school invites famous people to come perform and/or teach for a set (usually short) amount of time.[return to text]
> 
> 2 Classical music festivals are kind of like summer camp, but instead of the usual activities you take private lessons, rehearse if you're there for chamber music/orchestra, practice, go to lectures, and socialize with musicians from other cities and countries if you're not dead by the end of the day. They last from a few weeks to all summer. Often, guest artists will perform for the students during the week and give masterclasses (next note), and then every weekend the students will play in recitals and concerts. Some festival orchestras go on national concert tours!
> 
> They almost always require an audition. In terms of content and skill level required, I think getting into a major festival can be as difficult as getting an orchestra job. So Tanya's festival teaching experience is 1) a big deal and 2) good for a short residency, since she knows how to guide students over a very short period of time unlike many private teachers. 
> 
> Going from Nodame canon, I don't really see her ever becoming a successful solo pianist;;; But I like to think she ends up having a good career anyway, just by a slightly different route.[return to text]
> 
> 3 A lesson with a very famous/well-respected musician that's arranged by a school or a festival. Open to the public (to watch, not to participate) or at least recorded/streamed—ideally that musician's methods are so good that other students can learn just from watching. Also non-student fans of that musician get to see them in a friendlier, more relaxed context than a regular performance.[return to text]
> 
> 4 [Sicilienne, Op. 78, solo piano arrangement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zop26oeIeGc) (Gabriel Fauré) [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> *posts chapter*
> 
> *runs away*
> 
>  
> 
> (None of the other chapter endings will be this depressing.)


	14. Polyphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polyphony: Multiple, independent melodies played at the same time to form a harmonized whole.

Friday, 11:30am, Momogaoka Conservatory Cafe

It's almost exactly 24 hours before the Miyaki prelims, and Oikawa's sipping chamomile tea in the cafe while waiting for his punishment. He reminisces about the good old days, like when Yachi pelted him with stale rice balls and gagged him with bread. Or the very first time Iwaizumi gave him a nice, healthy smack on the head with the Beethoven score. And, of course, when Tanya stomped on his foot over and over just two days ago.

He can deal with weaponized foods and headache-by-sheet-music and an angry woman yelling at him in Russian.

But he _cannot_ deal with getting the silent treatment from all three of them.

Oikawa puts his tea aside and lets his head drop to the table.

He had plans for today. _Work out timing for the end of the second movement. Run through the piece one more time with Yachi and get Take-chan to listen—there was never enough time in lessons for to play from start to finish. ... And then maybe two more run-throughs. If things go well._

_How am I supposed to do any of that when Tanya and Iwa-chan and my own damn accompanist won't talk to me??_

He's tried "Yachi-san, I haven't touched a piano since Wednesday, I swear" and "Iwa-chan, there's no such thing as bad karma from arguing with Yachi-san and Sleepy-kun, my neck hurts because I slept weird last night" and <Tanya, listen, I would've told you that story sooner if I knew you guys weren't mad at me>—all to no avail.

The cafe door opens; Mina, Hanamaki, Runa, and Kuroki enter.

 _Here it comes,_ he thinks.

First: a chorus of "WHAT did you DO to—"

"—Yacchan?"  
"—one-third of our trio?"  
"—my wife."

Mina kicks things off. "Did you know that Yacchan only got an 89 on her history exam because her handwriting was too messy? You _broke_ her! Suna-kun tried so hard to give her a better grade, and now he won't stop talking about getting his eyes checked and _Oikawa-san FIX them!_ "

Next comes Hanamaki: "Look, man, I know you've got your secrets. But you can't tell Iwaizumi _anything?_ He can know stuff that I know, right?"

"Wait, wait a minute." Oikawa shakes his head. "Iwa-chan's upset because he thinks this crick in my neck is his fault."

Hanamaki collapses into a chair and groans. "Goddamnit, Oikawa, there's that too? You gotta work things out with him, man. Do you want a whole auditorium of people to think about abandoned kittens tomorrow?"

"Hamtaro was my first pet," adds Runa. "He was such a good hamster."

Kuroki's last, with a checklist. "One: you're taking her shopping on Sunday. No time limit. Two: we have some admin work for you to do, for our next tour... it'll be a good learning experience for you. Three: she decided you're making dinner Sunday night, here's your grocery list. Here's another one for brunch the next day in case there's no time to cook after your shopping trip."

Oikawa is pretty sure he sees 'lobster' on both lists.

He sighs. _Guess I brought this on myself._

 

* * *

 

Saturday, 10:40am, Momogaoka Recital Hall lobby

Oikawa presses his ear against the closed doors of the recital hall. There's some kind of woodwind and brass group playing—he'll need to wai—

"Noya, we can't just go in!"  
"Sure we can! Come—"  
" _Nishinoya_."

At the next set of doors, he sees three crows—small, medium, and large.

"Hey, look!" Nishinoya exclaims. His voice echoes in the empty lobby. "That's Oikawa! We'll ask him if we can go in."

"Err." Oikawa doesn't really know what to say. "Hello..."

Sawamura sighs. "Sorry about these two. None of us go to concerts much, we're only here for Suga."

_Huh? But Sugawara's not doing chamber music..._

"Sorry to interrupt," a new man's voice says from someplace out of view. "But I think the people standing in the back can hear us if we're too loud."

Oikawa frowns at him. Young, medium-height, sandy brown hair. Clean-cut with a calm and pleasant expression. _Looks familiar... probably a student here._ He's in all black: black dress shirt, black pants, well-worn black leather shoes. _New usher?_  

"Oikawa-san," he says. "You... actually came. Iwaizumi-san didn't think you would."

_Huh? Wait, he can't be a student here. His looks... he'd be popular. The girls would be all over him._

"Umm..." Oikawa says tentatively. "Who are you?"

The man blinks at him. "You can't be serious."

"..." 

" _Buuut_ you are. In that case... I've always wanted to say this to you, and this seems like a good time."

 _Okay, clearly this person thinks he knows me. No, he_ definitely _does. Why else would he talk about Iwa-chan?_

"I don't think you're a bad person, Oikawa-san," he says, "but I really, really don't like you." He gives Oikawa a polite nod and slips inside the recital hall.

_What the hell was that??_

"They're clapping! We can sneak in!" Nishinoya yells. "LET'S GO!"

Sawamura sighs, Azumane lowers his head and whispers a quick, "Good to see you, Oikawa," and then both of them follow Nishinoya inside.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa finds an aisle seat in the very last row. He's only interested in the last group of the day, and he wants to leave as soon as they're done in order to go find Yachi. Tanya and Iwaizumi would have to wait until after the competition.

But he's early—the second-to-last group walks on stage to thunderous applause.

Oikawa freezes. He recovers just before the performance begins, grabs a program, and reads,

 **Lamento della Ninfa (The Nymph's Lament)** [1]  
_Claudio Monteverdi_

Misaki Hana, soprano  
Kuroo Tetsurou, violin  
Kozume Kenma, violin  
Konoha Akinori, cello  
Akaashi Keiji, harpsichord

Their popularity is no surprise. In high school, Misaki, Kuroo, and Hanamaki swept the junior competition circuit. Misaki ended high school undefeated, with Kuroo, Hanamaki, and Oikawa accompanying her the entire time.

Something about seeing this alternate version of that group was... unsettling.

_Because Kenma actually agreed to play something that's not required? Because someone I've never heard of is in Makki's old spot, because Keiji's in mine?_

_Oh. Of course._

_It's because Hana-chan's working harder than I am._   _What's she doing, performing right before the competition? And it's not even her competition piece._

Misaki's voice is clean, straightforward, yet otherworldly. The song she's singing is a nymph's reflection on her lost love, her yearning tainted by bitterness at being cast aside for another woman. It pushes old, buried thoughts back to the surface—this time bearing her name instead of 'Tobio-chan.'

 

> _Where is the fidelity_  
>  _that the traitor vowed?_

_She learned more music. She's performing more. Knew exactly what kind of musician she wanted to be by the time she was sixteen—two years before I did. She's already been in three operas outside of school._

_Can I ever really win when there are people like her in the world?_

 

> _Make my love come back_  
>  _As he once was_  
>  _Or kill me, so I_  
>  _Can no longer torment myself._  

_Maybe, maybe I shouldn't've played for her and Makki all through high school, should've competed instead. Should've made a name for myself before coming to the Conservatory, not after._

_Or, wait. Maybe I should've stuck with accompanying. Then, at least, I'd be on a winning team._

_... Would it've been better if I came here for violin?_

 

> _I no longer want him to breathe,_  
>  _Unless he's far from me_  
>  _No, I will no longer suffer_  
>  _From what he says to me_

_How many hours have I put into the Beethoven this year? How much shitty food did I eat because of the competition? One term left at the conservatory. What did I even do over the last three years?_

 

> _Because I destroy myself for him,_  
>  _So full of pride as he is._

It's hard to breathe. He remembers the feeling now—falling, sinking, such pressure from the depths of the ocean—

" _Brava!_ " someone shouts, and Oikawa's rooted to his seat by the crush of a standing ovation.

_Why am I—_

Someone taps him on his shoulder. "Oikawa?" 

He _jumps_ and spins around.

"Makki?! What the hell are you doing? You're playing next, go backstage!"

"What, can't a guy take a piss before—" Hanamaki frowns at Oikawa. "Hey, you look like shit. Don't tell me you stayed up all night again."

"No! It's..." Oikawa runs his fingers through his hair. "Did you hear Hana-chan sing? I just, God, I _feel_ like shit. There's all this, regret, or something. I don't know. Everything feels... uncomfortable. Wrong."

Hanamaki squats down in the aisle so that they're eye to eye. He puts a hand on Oikawa's shoulder and gives him a long, hard look.

"Oikawa," he says, "You trust me, don't you?"

"... Yeah."

"Good. So listen. I think you feel like shit because you dated, like, 40% of that group."

The two of them stare at each other.

Somewhere, crickets chirp.

"... what?" Oikawa finally asks.

"The _hot_ 40%," Hanamaki clarifies. "And both of 'em dumped your ass. Pretty sure that's a good enough reason to feel regret. Or uncomfortable or whatever."

"..."

"Am I right or am I right?"

There's a soft laugh—it takes a moment for Oikawa to realize it's him, not Hanamaki. "... Makki, you're an idiot."

"You," Hanamaki pokes Oikawa's chest, "should be more like an idiot and stop thinking so hard. All right? I gotta go, don't want 'em thinking I took a dump. Wish us luck?"

Oikawa scoffs. "You're ridiculous. For thinking you need luck."

"Heh. I think Runa and Iwaizumi'll like that." He hops to his feet. "Welp, see ya—oh wait! Make sure you stay 'til the end!"

"Why wouldn't I—" Oikawa starts to ask, but Hanamaki's already gone.

 

* * *

 

The final performance of the day:

 **Trio in a minor, Op. 114** [2]  
_Johannes Brahms_

Kuribayashi Runa, clarinet  
Hanamaki Takahiro, cello  
Iwaizumi Hajime, piano

"Are they crazy?" someone in front of Oikawa whispers. "This is basically a clarinet trio, and they picked some random second-year for it? Is she even in the good orchestra?"

Someone else replies, "Kind of a waste, isn't it. Hanamaki Takahiro in a group like this. I heard he didn't get to compete at all this year."

Oikawa wants to kick a couple of someones in the shins. _Yeah, he didn't, because he's auditioning for professional orchestras so just shut the fuck up and listen!_

Both clarinet and cello tune to the piano's 'A'.

_As usual, but I hope Iwa-chan knows what that means to this group:_

_You're the baseline. Their starting point. They need you._

 

* * *

 

Oikawa _did_ pick this piece for its piano part, but he also picked it for its opening.

_Makki can sit in front of a thousand people and play that first note without breaking a sweat. ... I think he's the only person up there who can do that right now._

...

It's a stage play that begins with a single spotlight on the cello and its short monologue. The words spring to life in a warm, rich tenor voice. 

The cello looks off to one side and holds out his hand. For her, of course—the clarinet.

She takes it with a tight grip and doesn't let go. They stand center stage for their duet, but she's pale and unsteady and only looking at him.

(Runa's sound is shaky, and she's rushing. Hanamaki adjusts his part to fit hers.)

_Don't coddle her. It's fine if she's scared. Let her work it out._

He doesn't let go.

_Come on, Makki, you know better than that. You're the one who's believed in her since the beginning, remember?_

Suddenly, their lyrical duet is cut short by a new, tension-filled motif led by the piano.

" _Oi_ , you two," the piano says, when he comes out of _nowhere_. He glares at both of them, and they let go and jump apart like their hands just caught on fire.

Oikawa wants to laugh. _What is this? Like her dad just caught them making out in the living room or something?_

From here, the play proceeds as scripted. They talk and they sing and dance. They argue and make up. They act out the story, together, scene by scene.

Hanamaki: He was already good in high school, and he has the medals and trophies to prove it. But here, the piano sands down the rough edges that come from even the slightest deviation in his technique and form. It propels the sound forward, even when the build of the instrument itself resists.

Runa: She's young. Inexperienced. It takes too long for her sound to take shape; she's hesitant, reluctant to draw with a permanent marker without using a pencil first. But the piano is her foothold, a way for the clarinet to take root and stand tall against the force of nature that Hanamaki's playing tends to be.

If the two of them are actors, then Iwaizumi is their director behind the scenes. But he's also their costumes, their props, the stage on which they stand.

_He makes it sound like Makki and Runa-chan each have their own accompanist, one who supports their individual strengths and weaknesses._

_This barely scratches the surface of what Iwa-chan can do,_ Oikawa thinks. He's annoyed. A little angry, even. _Everyone should know his name, too. I should've told them to play Fauré. Bruch. Beethoven. Anything with a better piano part. Maybe Makki can find time between auditions, they can do a quick recital somewhere..._

At least it looks like the audience knows good chamber music when they hear it. Oikawa can see people getting ready to pop out of their seats and stand for this trio, pre-performance judgement and rough opening totally forgotten.

Their final note resonates in the hall. Oikawa smiles, gets out of his seat—

With a loud _click_ , the hall turns pitch black. Even the emergency lights are out. There are gasps and whispers instead of applause.

_Power outage? But—_

A beam of light nearly blinds the audience. It illuminates the stage, the piano now moved front and center, and—

Oikawa rolls his eyes. _Jeez_... _that girl. I suppose a dramatic entrance suits her_. _And that dress. My God._

(Fire-engine red, strapless, bodice completely covered in glitter.)

Mina sits at the piano, head lowered, hair hiding her face from the audience and hands folded in her lap. She doesn't move, yet a repeating pattern of notes emerge, a fast tango rhythm in a low bubbling simmer.[3]

Only now does Oikawa realize there's someone else on the bench with her. He looks carefully and _sees_ and laughs _out loud_ , this time. 

In the lobby, this person only looked somewhat familiar. But now, with Mina next to him for context...

 _In my defense, Sleepy-kun doesn't even look tired today_ annnd _he's not drowning in one of his hoodies._

Sunakawa hands something to Mina and whispers to her without any break in his playing. She takes it, nods, uses it to clip her hair back so her face is no longer hidden from view.

She lowers her hand oh-so-slowly onto the keys for her first note. It's a simple melody that only requires one hand to play, but she starts to decorate it with little twists and turns. It repeats, that melody, and she adds her left hand. Then some chords. Then a pulsing rhythm of her own.

Next to Mina, on every repeat, Sunakawa stokes the fire. He pushes her, makes tension and urgency and heat build on every repeat until everything threatens to boil over.

 _Intense,_ Oikawa thinks. He's never seen that look on Mina's face before. Determined, with lips pressed together, almost angry—

_—wait a minute. Doesn't Iwa-chan make that same face—_

She _lunges_  left into Sunakawa's territory for the lowest of low notes and almost shoves him off the bench. He barely manages to stay upright, lifts his hands _just_ in time for her to pass through, and she swipes her hand across _all 88 keys_ like she's sweeping everything off a table—

The sound _explodes._

It's too much, the piano's sound is distorted, percussive rather than melodic—

Sunakawa whispers something to Mina, and her cheeks burn just as brightly as her dress.

Oikawa hears "Too loud, Mina..." in his mind and presses his fingers against his lips before he starts laughing again.

She's back in control, but completely off-book. She leaps from simple variation and scales to something unidentifiable and wild.

 _It's good,_ Oikawa thinks. Messy, but interesting with just enough structure and form to keep the whole thing from falling apart.  _This has Iwa-chan and Sugawara written all over it. They must've helped her with this._

Mina runs, trips, stumbles, gets back up and runs again. Sunakawa helps her up when she needs a hand, even after the time she tricked him and yanked on his arm to make him fall, too. But most of time, he simply runs next to her and watches. Listens. Fires her up and calms her down with just a few soft-spoken words. At the same time, she laughs and skips ahead and urges him along so that he doesn't just dwindle down into a complete standstill.

A thought strikes Oikawa, then, seeing all of this play out through music on stage.  _They're complicated, aren't they? They're not just kids messing around._

_More like friends who may be lovers... but act like brother and sister, always pulling in and pushing away because they can't box themselves in._

_But it's them. It's Mina-chan and Sleepy-kun. This is just how it is, with the two of them._

(It's messy and complicated, but it's also how they can end their performance in perfect unison.)

Oikawa never thought this day would come, the day he gives Kobayashi Mina a standing ovation, but he can't help himself and neither can the rest—

_screeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ [4]

_Oh my God what now??_

It takes a full second for Oikawa to realize that long screeching noise is actually coming from a musical instrument. _A kazoo? One of those shitty plastic recorders from elementary school music classes?_

It softens into an airy whine, then at last a sustained, rounded tone. The hall has gone dark again, even the stage, but that note leaps and falls like Mina's huge sweep across the piano into—

—that tango rhythm Sunakawa played earlier. But played by something that now sounds like a thinned out accordion—

The stage lights come up, and the audience laughs.

_OH MY GOD_

Pianicas. Those toy instruments with piano keys, the ones you play by blowing into a tube attached at top. _That's_ what that noise was from.

Noise from pianicas played by _Iwaizumi and Yachi._

Oikawa has never felt this embarrassed in his life.

Yachi is holding hers vertically, like on an accordion, but Iwaizumi has his lying flat on a small table in front of him. And the tube he's blowing into—

_Wait, what's Iwa-chan doing?_

_... No. Way._

The tube he's blowing into is shaped like an upside-down Y, because he's playing the world's tiniest, shittiest organ— _two_ pianicas played at the same time: one on the table and the other on a small, raised platform behind the first.

Iwaizumi doesn't start simple, like Mina did. With Yachi like a third hand beside him, he _plays._

He plays, and Oikawa listens as a twelve-year-old in the streets of Paris at twelve-am.

 

* * *

 

Tooru heads for the bridge to look at the stars like he always does with a new moon. But today, someone's already there. It's a little annoying, some random guy taking his spot, and he starts thinking about other places he can go.

But he sees that random guy pull an accordion out of a beat-up case, and of course he can't resist anything that even remotely resembles a piano.

So he strides up to the accordion player and asks, <How does that work? Are you any good? Can I try it?>

After a short pause, he adds, <Hm. Lame. You're just a kid.>

The accordion player snorts— _snorts!_ —at him. <Took the words right out of my mouth. And seriously, do you even know how to say hi to someone? Or ask for a favor?>

He goes on to scold Tooru for being out so late at night, but Tooru stands his ground. _Bet you're not that much older than I am,_ he thinks.  _If I can't try it, fine. I don't know if I'd let a stranger touch my piano anyway. But I won't leave 'til I hear you play._

(In the end, it only takes few 'please's and pouts for the stranger to give up and start giving Tooru his first accordion lesson.)

Playing the accordion is way harder than Tooru expected. <Your turn,> he says, when his arm starts getting sore after only a few minutes. <Play something cool. Let me listen to you.>

When he doesn't get an answer, he adds, <Oh. I mean, I'll pay like everyone else does.>

The accordion player cracks up laughing until tears come to his eyes. < _Wow._ Oh, man. You don't know much about how the world works, do you? Relax, kid, I'll play. Just surprised a little princeling with fancy clothes would ever ask me to.>

< _Hey!_ I'm not— > Tooru protests.

<Calm down, calm down. I didn't mean anything bad by it. Honestly, 's nice to have company, and I like playing for people who actually wanna listen. Tell me what kind of stuff you like so I can pick something good to play.>

It's a night where the moon is dark and the stars are hidden behind clouds, but it's also a night where a stranger and his music makes Tooru forget about school and lessons and competitions—makes him forget he ever felt alone.

 

* * *

 

_That never happened._

_..._

_Yes, yes it did. ... it started a few months ago, and it's still happening._

_(And I don't want it to stop. I think I really, really like him.)_

"Thanks, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispers.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi and Yachi are both accompaniment now, and a new spotlight on the opposite side of the stage reveals Kuroki and Tanya making the melody their own.Sugawara rounds out the group when he strolls onstage playing _one of those shitty plastic recorders from elementary school music classes._

Kuroo and Hanamaki are the last to join in. The strings add a new splash of color, bringing more depth to the music as if it was written for an entire orchestra.

Oikawa watches the two of them go overboard with their dramatic flair, swinging their bow arms in huge circles and moving their bodies like they're trying to dance. He hears Tanya and Kuroki play in sync as easily as they breathe, knows that Yachi has probably taken notes on everyone and is doing her best to match them all.

And he thinks about Iwaizumi, of course.

Now, with the ensemble in full force, Oikawa realizes something.

_Um... Isn't this actually pretty cool??_

_This looks like a random, crazy group, but somebody's thought this through. That somebody understands sound, understands these people._

Oikawa sees that somebody's hand in all of this—traces of the person who must have arranged this entire performance: Mina's improvation, the toy instruments probably borrowed from Takinoue's stash of teaching tools, a thorough understanding of how instruments blend and resonate with each other because he probably plays all of them.

(Actually, Oikawa sees that person right there onstage because he's Sugawara Koushi: a performer at heart who loves just a little bit of drama; an arranger who wrote himself a part in the performance because he won't stand for being an unsung hero behind the scenes.)

_Well, damn. I tried pretty hard at not liking the guy, but I suppose he's refreshing, after all._

 

* * *

 

The surprise performanceis the _only_ thing people are talking about after the recital. Oikawa's not exactly proud to admit that he's glad they like this more than Misaki's performance, but—

_Oh, what the hell. Even Hana-chan would say that this was way more fun._

He heads backstage to see Iwaizumi, talk to Sugawara, check on Yachi and Tanya—

"Oikawa-saaan!" Yachi runs toward him at full speed. 

"Whoa, hey, I was gonna come to you guys. Iwa-chan's still back there, right? Why are you running around out here?"

"Doors at Towa Hall open in _five minutes!_ "

"WHAT!?"

 

* * *

 

Saturday, 11:22am, Towa Hall lobby

Oikawa and Yachi stumble into the building less than ten minutes before the competition is set to begin. They both double over to catch their breath—he holds his suit jacket crumpled in one hand, and his tie's hanging out of his pants pocket; she manages to look put-together, but it seems like she can barely breathe.

 _The good thing about being so late,_ Oikawa thinks, _is that everyone's already in their seats. No one's here to see us like this._

Two bottles of water appear in front of them. 

Oikawa straightens up, and his eyes widen in surprise. "Take-chan, you are the most beautiful man on earth," he says. 

Takeda laughs. "Well! How flattering. The two of you can take some time to recover. There's a bit of a delay... word is, the first performer has an issue with the make and model of the piano bench."

Yachi promptly lies down on the floor and falls asleep. 

"Um." Oikawa looks at Takeda for help, but the teacher simply chuckles.

"Don't worry, Oikawa-kun. Yachi-san develops very peculiar napping habits if she's under stress for extended periods of time. She'll be fine in a minute. Some chocolate after she wakes up is helpful."

_Huh. I doubt that shitty old man would know or care about this kind of thing. Take-chan really is something._

"So, uh." Oikawa scratches his head. He doesn't really know why he wants to ask this, but... 

"Any last words of wisdom?"

Takeda considers this for a long time.

"From what I understand, most listeners—myself included—find ourselves surrounded by wonderful, vivid imagery when we hear your playing. The sights and sounds of entire worlds."

_... it's embarrassing when you put it like that..._

"However, Oikawa-kun." Takeda looks up at him with a calm, serene smile but also a glimmer in his eye. "We're here to hear  _you_ play Beethoven's 'Emperor' concerto today. Imagine our delight if the Emperor himself were to show us his kingdom."

Takeda Ittetsu is known as a soft-spoken pushover, easily persuaded, too lenient. But his words hit Oikawa like a blast of cool air on the hottest day of a heatwave.

(He barely has the presence-of-mind to realize his mouth is hanging open.)

"Ahh!" Takeda jumps back and frantically shakes his hands 'no'. "Was that too much? I'm sorry, I get so carried away—"

"No, no, it's not that, Sensei. After what I saw just now... I think I know exactly what you mean."

 

* * *

 

Saturday, 11:47am, Towa Hall green room

A woman with a headset and a clipboard opens the door and announces, "Competitor number 13? Competitor number 13 is next. Please report to the coordinator backstage."

"Oh, that's us." Oikawa stands and stretches. "You okay?"

"Yesh," Yachi replies through a mouthful of M&Ms. She points to his neck and gives him a questioning look.

He laughs a little. "Don't go choking on me, now. My neck hurts a little, yeah, but don't worry about it. More importantly... are you still mad at me? If you wanna say 'I told you so,' this is the time."

She takes a huge gulp of water and gasps, "No, of course not! And! I'm so sorry for playing in that last piece, we should've been here much earlier—"

"Well, uh, you... might be mad after I say what I'm about to say."

"But, Oikawa-san, _you're_ the one who should be mad at—"

"The way I'm going to play will be completely different than what we've been practicing."

"WHAT!?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Lamento della Ninfa, SV 163 from Madrigals, Book 8](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHUUhLSyy4w) (Claudio Monteverdi) [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Trio in a minor, Op. 114](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP5vWqmiWfU) (Johannes Brahms) [return to text]
> 
> 3 [Libertango, arranged for piano four hands](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UXlf_ZMb8E) (Astor Piazzolla)  
> This is the video that made me pick _Libertango_ for this chapter.  [return to text]
> 
> 4 [Libertango, arranged for accordion, guitar, cajón, and orchestra](https://youtu.be/GnyAgOWhMnk?list=PLL8NLDWYhykorWn5cja3QLQfGgGDThMx0&t=204) (Astor Piazzolla)  
> [return to text]


	15. Da capo al coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Da capo al coda: a phrase that instructs the musician to play the piece again, but with an alternate ending.

_If there's a beach like this in real life, I would never leave._

With every step, Yachi feels her feet sink into the heat of glistening white sand that looks and feels like warm, everlasting snow. The gentle breeze reveals bits of pretty stones and seashells buried just beneath the surface and waiting be discovered. Low tide and slow, rolling waves border an ocean tinted an ethereal seafoam green.

And the sun, in all its majesty, giving the world light and life.

There's a young boy sitting in the sand, not too far away. He's wearing a suit and tie, but "wearing" is probably an overstatement—he's using the jacket as a blanket to sit on and the tie as a headband. His dress pants are rolled all the way up to his knees, and a pair of stiff brown leather shoes lie discarded behind him.

"Hitoka-chan! Hitoka-chan, come look!" He stands and points at an impossibly elegant and ornate sand castle beside him, built about waist-high and surrounded by a too-perfectly-blue pool of water.

Yachi runs over and kneels down next to the boy. She examines the castle's intricate details, like arched windows and carved doors and even individual bricks; she sees that the castle stands not in a pool of water but one of blue rose petals.

"Kick it," he orders. He looks at her with overflowing confidence behind shining brown eyes that can only belong to one person.

This is _not_ a situation Yachi has prepared for. "What? No, Oikawa-san _I mean_ Oikawa, Oi, Oikawa-kun?" she blurts. "Toor— _ohh_ no no-no-no not that, erm..."

_How do I talk to Oikawa-san when he's seven years old???_

"Oikawa- _sama_ is good," the boy suggests.

"..."

(Yachi feels that mild headache coming on, the one she gets when she completely understands the urge to throw pencils and drumsticks at him.)

"Just kidding!" He grins that crooked, toothy grin usually reserved for Pouncy or his pianos. "Please? You have to."

"Why? It's so pretty! I can't just ruin something you made," she insists. "Aren't you proud of it?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, but the one you just made with the other kids? It was all weird and lopsided and stuff, but it was huge and it was _so cool!_ You could play inside it and climb on top and everything! So smash this one up and we'll make a better one like _that_ together."

He looks so excited and happy and innocent and sure of himself, and Yachi wonders if _anyone's_ ever been able to say no to this boy. (She definitely can't.) So she lifts up her foot and pushes (nudges, really) the top of the sand castle. _At least we can save the bottom part,_ she thinks.

The third story of the castle plus the tops of a few towers hit the ground with a loose _thmp_.

"Hitoka-channn," he whines, "you're not _doing_ it right! Come on, kick it—"

 

* * *

 

"—like you mean it!" Oikawa says under his breath. He's approaching the end of the first cadenza[1] and he _winks_ at her like he's not playing a million notes per minute.

Yachi smiles when she sees a trace of a pout on his lips. _So bossy,_ she thinks. _But that's Oikawa-san for you._

_I have to do better on this chord._

_"Kick it like you mean it."_

She gathers the weight of an _entire orchestra_ in her arms this time, trusts her instincts and practiced timing, and lets all of it _fall._

Gravity takes over, and a dense, full-bodied, yet vibrant chord fills the auditorium.

Under the cover of this vast expanse of sound, Oikawa turns away from the audience to look right at her and _laughs_ the kind of laugh that comes from being giddy with success.

_"Come with me, Hitoka-chan. Let's play. It'll be fun, I promise."_

 

* * *

 

_First movement: Allegro_

At school, Oikawa Tooru is a celebrity. But beyond the Conservatory's walls, within the competition circuit, only a select few have ever even heard his name. 

All of that changes today. 

The audience is torn between listening in stunned, awed silence and asking each other where the hell this pianist came from.

(Even his friends are wondering the same thing.)

From his seat near the back of the concert hall, Hanamaki leans toward Kuroo and Misaki beside him. "Hey, you guys. When was the last time you heard Oikawa play?" 

"Two years ago," Misaki replies. "When he did that concerto at school."

Kuroo nods. "Same."

"Oh. Never mind then. I just don't get..." Hanamaki frowns. "I listened to him practice like, two months ago, and he wasn't playing like this then."

The other two look at each other, then at Hanamaki, then at each other again.

"Oh wait, duh," Hanamaki grins. "My buddy Iwaizumi here listens to him all the time. He'll know what's up." He turns the other way and finds Iwaizumi... slumped forward in his seat with his forehead touching his knees.

"What the..." Hanamaki pokes him. "Dude, are you seriously asleep?? I know you had a long week, but he's gonna kill you if he—"

The sound of crumpling paper makes Hanamaki stop. He looks a bit more closely and sees that Iwaizumi is holding a scrunched up program tight in his fist. The fingers on his other hand dance in a fast flurry of featherlight touches on the seat of his chair.

Hanamaki watches for a while and realizes those fingers might be matching Oikawa's, note by note.

He turns back to Kuroo and Misaki. "Uhh, no comment. But I think something fucking huge happened... or maybe, it's happening right now."

 

* * *

 

_Second movement: Adagio un poco mosso_

Mina leans against Sunakawa and whispers, "This girl in my history class wrote a paper on _West Side Story_."

He looks at her. "Huh? Okay... ?"

"This is from that song, isn't it? That phrase just now."

"It'd be the other way around, Beethoven came first..."

"Ughhh stop being pickyyyy." Mina sneaks a peek at her phone. "See? Wikipedia says so. Do you know which one I'm talking about?" She taps to a new page and reads, " _'There's a place for us, peace and quiet and open air wait for us. Hold my hand and I'll take you there, somehow, some day, somewhere.'_ "[2]

"I like it," Sunakawa says simply.

Mina hooks two of her fingers around two of his, and both of them hold on tight.

"I wonder..." Sunakawa trails off, ponders his words, then—"No, I think. I think that's what Oikawa-san is saying right now."

 

* * *

 

_Third movement: Rondo_

_Why did I start this movement so damn fast?_ was the last thought Oikawa had before he forgot how to think... because he has to play _so damn fast._

Occasionally, little flags do jump out in his mind, things like "don't rush in the next phrase" or "playing slower would be smart here." But these are more like survival instincts, because his brain does _sometimes_ begrudgingly admit that his fingers _might_ have a physical limit.

He can't think. But he can _feel_.

First, something clicks in his brain, and he connects the hard grind of practice to the way he is right now.

Open. Clear. Free.

He senses Yachi beside him and hopes it's the same for her. He'd be so very happy if that's the case.

From this point forward, bits and pieces of the music remind him of Iwaizumi—although Oikawa doesn't think of him by name.

Instead, there's the calm from having him in the same room. Delight from having someone who's so easy to talk to, to laugh with. The warmth of being liked and being cared for; the relief from being accepted. The satisfaction and pure joy from knowing that your hard work (from knowing that you, just as you are) can make someone else happy.

And _this_ , this feeling that exists beyond words. It's the one you get from putting yourself back together after six years of heartbreak and knowing you can finally, truly love music (and maybe even finally, truly love someone) again.

 

* * *

 

_Final cadenza: Silence_

Just moments before Oikawa's last cadenza, he lets his hand hover over the keys for what seems like an eternity. 

Suspense and tension build from the fact that everyone knows the concerto isn't over, from seeing the pianist frozen in time. Some listeners familiar with the music are eager to see one more glimpse at his technique and virtuosity. At the same time, others are uncomfortable when they don't get the satisfaction of a real ending when _they_ want it. 

 _All_ of them wait with bated breath.

This is when Yachi experiences firsthand the incredible _power_  of silence—silence by Oikawa Tooru's hand.

_An absence of sound becomes an absence of air. He decides when people listen, wait, breathe._

_This is the reigning king of our world inside this concert hall._

_This is what a real performer can do._

 

* * *

 

_Afterwards: Storm_

"You have to bow too!"

 _Huh? What_ _?_ Yachi doesn't understand what's happening. _What did Oikawa-san just say? He's not sitting at his piano? There's no music anymore?_

Only silence.

Awful, dreadful silence.

"Get ready," he whispers.

...

...

...

 

_Pop!_

 

The cork flies off a giant bottle of anticipation, and it unleashes a _thunderstorm_.

Thunder from the ground-shaking clamor of people rushing to their feet: bottoms of shoes thumping against carpet, seats folding up and striking against seat-backs behind them.

Lightning from cameras flashing from every pocket of darkness, and the sound of torrential rain from more than a thousand pairs of hands clapping over and over and over again.

 

They walk off stage with the storm still raging behind them.

 

* * *

  
  
Iwaizumi grabs his bag and climbs over the back of his seat. Then over one in that row. And the one behind that.

"Piano," he mutters to himself. "I need a piano." 

"Oi! Iwaizumi! You leaving?" Hanamaki flaps the program at him. "We gotta stay 'til the end for the results!"

Iwaizumi doesn't look back. But he does say, "Those judges aren't deaf, he's gonna win."

 

And then he leaves the auditorium.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 A cadenza is a section of music in a concerto where the soloist actually plays solo, without orchestra. They're usually the hardest parts of a concerto.
> 
> At Hiroko's house, [Iwaizumi described the opening of this concerto as [orchestra chord -> cadenza -> orchestra chord -> cadenza.]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12664665/chapters/30488706#return1501a) So at this point in time, Yachi has already played the first chord. She's not playing anything right now while Oikawa's in the cadenza.[return to text]
> 
> 2 ["Somewhere," from West Side Story](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BQMgCy-n6U&feature=youtu.be&t=24) (Leonard Bernstein/Steven Sondheim)
> 
> The Beethoven part is at the very beginning ("There's a place for us...") [return to text]


	16. Duet and reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Playing lifts you out of yourself into a delirious place." —Jacqueline du Pré, cellist

"You look like shit," says Elise. She hands Oikawa a plastic cup of pinot noir and a bottle of Pocari Sweat.

He laughs and pours the sports drink into the cup, stirs it around with a finger and downs it in one gulp. "It's kind of scary, how you always know what I need. And thanks. Seriously."

She wrinkles her nose. "Your digestive system's scary. And thank yourself. That's 1800 yen out of your next paycheck."

He starts to pout and complain, but it turns into one of those smiles he can't hold back.

 _Some people never change,_ he thinks. _I hope she never does._

_She's stingy and annoying and violent. She swears like a sailor and works you to the bone._

_And she's damn good at her job. The best there is._

"I meant," Oikawa says, "thanks for suggesting this competition. I had no idea it was this popular—I mean, this many reporters just for the prelims?"

"It's run by charity—media loves it." She jerks her head towards the bulk of the crowd in the lobby. "And now they love _you_."

That much is clear: Oikawa hears people quoting snippets of his bio, describing his performance, saying things like "You think I can study with his teacher if I transfer to Momogaoka" and "watch, he'll debut with Tokyo Met next season."

There are conversations in German and English and Italian too—languages he can't understand—but he still hears his name over and over again.

_I could've had four years of this, huh, if I'd just listened to Elise._

"If you wanna say 'I told you so'," he says, "this is the time. I'll even admit it: I should've been competing." 

She's typing on her phone and only spares Oikawa a half-second glance. "What the hell are you talking about? We're following every step of my plan. Stay out of the public eye until the last minute, play here and surprise the shit out of the world, become a celebrity overnight... so far, so good."

"Yeah, right. You made all of that up just now! You _know_ what you put me through." 

(She broke into his bedroom about once every other month and dumped boxes of competition applications on his face to wake him up. She tied him to a chair, once, and tickled him until he agreed to compete—though she failed because he passed out from laughing himself out of air. And she _almost_ made competition a graduation requirement at Momogaoka... nobody really knows what happened there.)

"Mm." Elise is still looking at her phone. "I wonder what would've happened if I said, 'don't compete until you're a fourth-year at the conservatory.'"

_..._

_Okay, yeah,_ _I would've applied for competitions behind her back for three straight years._

"But still," says Oikawa, "if I'd spent the past three and a half years building my reputation—"

She cuts him off with a simple, "It's the Tortoise and the Hare."

"That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. Slow and steady wins the race?"

She mutters under her breath (though rather loudly), "Why are all the talented ones as dense as fucking bricks?"

"Hey!"

Elise slips her phone into her bag and tuts at him. "Tooru, Tooru, Tooru... You're the _hare._ You're blessed with the right physique and natural talent. You're charming and popular. But you're a _winner_ , because you don't take any of that for granted. You work hard to grow that talent, to get rid of laziness and false confidence and _I'll be damned,_ you even have big ears. Never noticed."

"..."

"Today, you came out of nowhere, ran beautifully, and won the race. Hell, even if slow-and-steady took first place, nobody gives a shit about some turtle who's been plodding along for years—not when there's a new hotshot rabbit in town."

Oikawa stares at her. He's vaguely aware of the fact that his mouth isn't fully closed.

 _Okay, that's_ definitely _an Iwa-chan-level metaphor._ And _she just shredded the moral of that story to pieces!_

_But isn't it one of the best compliments I've ever gotten...?_

"Hey, um, thank you for—"

Elise looks up from her phone. ( _When did she get it out of her bag? I was staring at her this whole time..._ ) A bluish-white gleam of light from the screen flashes across her glasses.

"You have an interview with Classic Life next week. Try not to sound like a brainless fuckwit. Oh, make sure you flirt with the photographer. I'm using her for some new promos, and I want a discount."

 _(Some people never change... and honestly? I_ _hope she never does.)_

 

* * *

 

"OIKAWA-SAN! SENPAI! OIKAWA-SAAAAN!"

Tanya and Kuroki look back and forth between Oikawa and the source of all the yelling—a small troupe of people headed right for them through a crowd of now-curious onlookers.

<You already have screaming fans?> Tanya asks, amused.

Oikawa covers his face with his hand.

_Too damn loud, Mina!_

(But, in this case... he doesn't hate it.)

Kuroki claps him on the shoulder. <Have fun with your friends,> he says. <Let's talk more later. But congratulations, again.>

<Amazing. I'll never forget it,> Tanya adds. She kisses him on the cheek, and the couple disappears into the crowd.

"Oi, Oikawa!"

_WH-WHAP!_

He feels two somethings collide painfully with his back, which are apparently hands attached to two idiots now flanking him on each side.

"Ow, man!" Hanamaki complains. "You're bony as fuck! Let's go eat 'til we pass out, yeah?"

Kuroo rubs his palm. "Yeesh. How'm I supposed to hold my bow now?"

"So don't hit me in the first place, assholes!" Oikawa squawks.

"Oh, _grow up,_ you guys." Misaki skips ahead with a little laugh and twirls around to face Oikawa. "Top of the list?" she asks.

"How rude of you to ask," Oikawa replies. "That should be a fact, not a question."

(He's trying to be cool and aloof, but happiness undermines his efforts and he gives up.)

So he says what he actually wanted to say. "The same is true for you, isn't it? Congratulations, Hana-chan." He grins and she grins back and suddenly he misses eating lunch with his friends, sitting on the lawn just outside their high school's gates.

"Oikawaaaaahhh." Hanamaki loops an arm around his neck. "You fucking _killed_ it! Holy shit."

Kuroo punches him on the shoulder. "Yeah, man, good—"

"WAIT!" Oikawa shoves his hand into Kuroo's face and covers his mouth. "Don't say anything nice. You'll ruin our friendship."

Kuroo gasps. It takes him a while to find the words that will remedy this situation and restore balance to the world. Finally, he comes up with, "Irritating know-it-all narcissistic shithead."

Oikawa nods. "Tone-deaf chicken-headed asswipe."

Both of them breathe a sigh of relief.

"Allll right." Misaki heaves Hanamaki's arm off Oikawa and pushes Kuroo off to the side. "Those people want to talk to Tooru too, so confess your undying love later." She smiles at Oikawa one more time and waves everyone else over.

"Everyone else" is pretty much everyone in Takeda's studio—including Takeda himself, of course. Oikawa looks at Sugawara and Sunakawa and Mina and those first- and second-years whose names he just learned a week or two ago—

_Wait a minute._

_Oh my God. These people. They know me. They know who I am at school, how I usually play._

_And then they all heard me play like_ that _._

He suddenly feels very, very exposed.

(Too raw. Too emotional. Far too honest.)

(Like he just tore down part of the Momogaoka Conservatory student named "Oikawa Tooru.")

_They're not like Tanya and Yassun, who know everything about me. Or like Makki, Hana-chan, Kuroo, even Kenma, who knew me when things were... how they were. Or like Iwa-chan, because I want him to—_

_Wait a minute._

_Where's Iwa-chan?_

...

_(Huh?)_

_(Where is he?)_

_With Yachi-san? But she said her roommate came and picked her up a while ago... maybe the three of them are hanging out. Hm._

He shoves the very-mixed feelings out of the way and sends Yachi a quick message. (He knows what she'll say, but sending it anyway makes him feel a little better.)

_Where else..._

Sugawara and Takeda are talking to him, something about Beethoven.

_Oh. Sugawara would know. Mina-chan and Sleepy-kun too._

_Where's Iwa-chan?_

_No, no, I can't ask them. Not after they, they don't—ugh, it's none of their business. I'll just talk to him later._

He looks at his phone.

_Okay. Yachi-san says she hasn't seen him since the recital._

And then, a chilling thought seeps into his bones:

_(Did Iwa-chan actually come?)_

...

...

...

_... Whatever. Who cares._

...

"Hey, um."

Everyone looks at Oikawa.

"Thanks for coming. Really. But I'm a little tired, so."

He turns his back on the chorus of "get some rest"s and "good job"s and "see you at school"s and heads home.

 

* * *

 

It's 10 in the morning on Sunday, and Oikawa opens the door to his apartment for Tanya and Kuroki.

<Mor-ning!> Tanya sings. She hands him a bouquet of flowers. <Hope you're cooking something really good, _especially_ since I let you off the hook yesterday.>

Kuroki sidesteps in front of Tanya, blocking her from Oikawa's view. <What Tanya means, is,> "We hope you got some rest last night."

She elbows him aside and laughs. <Tooru, we need a new penalty for Yasu when he speaks Japanese _on purpose_. Help me think of something. >

<Stove,> Oikawa mumbles. He shuffles back to the kitchen without another word.

Once Oikawa is out of earshot, Kuroki pinches Tanya's arm. She scowls at him, and he points to the dining table.

<Tanya,> he hisses, <I know you're angry, but this is ridiculous!>

Baked goods take up half the table—two baguettes, a plate of croissants, and a cheesecake. A coffee setup, fresh fruit, and three different egg dishes take up the rest of the space.

<You think I'd give up shopping if I was still mad? And I didn't ask for all this!> Tanya exclaims. <Maybe he just made extra for that friend he invited. Besides, who are we to complain when there's so much good food in front of us?>

Kuroki shakes his head. <Not the point. This is a _banquet_ , not an extra plate for a fourth person. What's wrong with Tooru?>

They look back in the kitchen and see Oikawa staring listlessly at nothing in particular.

The skillet in his hand bursts into a tall, blazing flame.

Tanya instinctively takes a step back. <Yasu. He's doing that on purpose, right?> she whispers.

He looks at her, then Oikawa, then at her again.

<... Let's think about where Tooru would put a fire extinguisher in this apartment.>

 

* * *

 

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
Yo guys quick question  
Oikawa wants to know if anyones seen iwaizumi yesterday or today  
Hes super worried  
Iwas not pickin up his phone I guess

 **Yachi Hitoka**  
No not since chamber music recital

 **Kobayashi Mina**  
??  
Vaca?? Home?? Like evryone else???????  
Noone in studio knows i just asked  
Whats the big deal?  
2 days and we dont have classes i mean come on

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
Uhhhhh sorry this is weird but I gotta ask or he'll never shut up  
Do you know where he lives or does anyone in your studio

 **Kobayashi Mina**  
Oh no thats A THING lolll  
None of us know hes super weird about it????

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
Yacchan you don't know either?

 **Yachi Hitoka**  
Umm... I did ask once, but he said that I might die if I went into his apartment  
So I thought assassins? And I never asked again  
Sorry...

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
Shit  
Sorry not at you guys  
Can you let me know if you see him?  
He's pretty messed up about it

 **Kobayashi Mina**  
Well i mean technically  
Theoretical  
UGH  
Suna-kun can find out cuz his job

 **Yachi Hitoka**  
??  
Writing for the website?

 **Kobayashi Mina**  
No TA stuff  
They don't have enough ppl at the msuic ed office so Shimada-san asked him to help out there  
He said all the ed students get background checks?? So hes been working on data or smth  
Crazy right??? I guess u dont want a murderer teaching little kids  
But wait wouldn't the school know about that stuff already?? Do we go to school with criminals?????

 **Yachi Hitoka**  
................................  
We might!!!

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
YOU GUYS.  
Mina-chan might wanna warn your friend oikawa's on his way NOW  
Dang he runs fast

 **Kobayashi Mina**  
Wait he cant just GO there!!!  
He needs to steal info  
Or hire ninjas  
Or lie idk he needs a plan

 **Yachi Hitoka**  
Will Oikawa-san be okay?

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
Tbh I don't even know if Oikawa can answer that question...  
I mean, he's got it bad.  
Like wtf is "iwachan" right? And they were together all week, you saw them  
Now he's just this pathetic lump of sad next to me  
It was better when he was all whiny and pissed off earlier  
He was def notlike this with Misaki or Akaashi

 **Yachi Hitoka**  
:(  
I hope Iwaizumi-san is okay too but I'm more worried about Oikawa-san  
Could you please let me know if I can do anything to help??

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
Heh we're too good for that guy, why do we put up with him  
But yeah I will ty

 

* * *

 

Oikawa stops outside the main education division office and sighs. _This is the worst._

 _Of course_ the one person who can help right now is the person least likely to fall for his charms. But it's not like he has a choice. The only thing he can do, now, is to go inside and deal with...

Sunakawa stares at him from his seat behind the front desk. "Oikawa-san? What are you doing here?"

Oikawa puts on a casual smile and shrugs. "Heard you were stuck working over break, so I came here to say 'hi'."

(Silence.)

"... Oikawa-san, what are you doing here."

_Okay, fine. If you're gonna be that way._

"Mina-chan said you were working on some student records. I just need one tiiiiny bit of info—"

"No. Sorry."

"Iwa-chan's address. That's it. And I'll pretend we never had this conversation."

"Can't do it. I won't mess with student confidentiality, and I don't want to lose my job."

Oikawa leans back against the door and groans. "Ughhhh, come on. Please? I'm asking nicely and everything. It's not like I _wanted_ to come in here, but you're _literally_ my last resort before I just start wandering around the neighborhood. So I _really_ need you to look the other way. Um, literally. For, like, ten seconds. After pulling up his info."

"... Do you even know how to ask someone for a favor?"

Inside Oikawa's mind, Iwaizumi yells, _"What is wrong with you don't insult people when you're asking them for a favor, dumbass!"_

_Stupid, stupid Iwa-chan._

_I wouldn't have to ask for one if you just turn on your damn phone!_

_... He shows up when I don't ask, but he disappears when I want to see him. Fucking hell._

_What am I doing?_

_Oikawa Tooru does not beg._

...

...

...

_(But it's Iwa-chan.)_

 

* * *

 

_Oikawa crossed his arms on the table and put his head down. "Ugh. Whatever. I don't even care."_

_"Dude." Hanamaki flicked the top of his head. "You just spent 20 minutes talking about Iwaizumi. Pretty sure you care."_

_"Yeah, well, not anymore," Oikawa grumbled into the table. "He didn't even care enough to come to the prelims, he can ignore me all he wants—"_

_Hanamaki made a fist and hit Oikawa's head like he was playing whack-a-mole. ("With a mole who's too pathetic to move," he muttered under his breath.)_

_"I cannot fucking believe you just said that. Of-fucking-course Iwaizumi was there on Saturday! The hell is wrong with you?"_

_Oikawa snapped to attention so fast that Hanamaki reared back and stumbled into another table._

_"He was? Um, okay. But was he, I don't know, bored? Or even—" Oikawa bit his lip._

_Hanamaki started to look very, very annoyed. "Dude. I've been telling you since high school, grown-ass men shouldn't pout like someone just took your favorite toy."_

_But Oikawa didn't take the bait, and Hanamaki's expression softened. "Jeez, you're honestly worried about that? No way. You should've seen him, he was super into it. Like doing air piano and stuff. Didn't even notice when I poked him."_

_"Oh!" Oikawa squeaked. "I mean—" He cleared his throat and brought his voice back down to a normal octave."Oh. That's... good. So you're sure, you're positive you haven't seen Iwa-chan recently?"_

_"Okay, seriously, this creepy obsessive thing is starting to freak me out. You're making it sound like I'm hiding him somewhere."_

_"... are you?"_

_"For fuck's sake NO!" Hanamaki threw his hands up in the air. "Are you even hearing the shit that's coming out of your mouth? God. I give up. Just... sit there and drink your damn hot chocolate, I'll ask Mina-chan and Yacchan."_

 

* * *

 

_I'm only doing this ONCE, only because it's Iwa-chan._

_(Oikawa Tooru does not beg, but Iwaizumi Hajime does not break promises.)_

Sunakawa sighs. "Favor or not, Oikawa-san, you didn't really think I'd tell you... ? Although I'm surprised you didn't tell Mina to come make me or something."

"Tch, yeah," Oikawa scoffs, "like I want another person telling me I can't go see Iwa-chan." He gets a little prickly at the thought. _Why do other people get to decide whether or not I can see him?_

 _I want to see him. And I'm_ going _to see him. I wonder_ _how many apartment complexes are near mine..._

Sunakawa shakes his head. "You, of all people, can talk her into it. Then she'll ask me and—"

(To Oikawa, "You, of all people..." sounds just like "Someone like you... someone like me".)

_BAM!_

He slaps both hands onto the desk. "Jesus Christ _do not_ finish that sentence."

_You're just like him! Why do you guys say stuff like this?_

_It's frustrating and it pisses me off. How do I make Iwa-chan understand that I'm just... me?_

_... well. I'm just_ pathetic _if I can't even convince Sleepy-kun._

Oikawa leans across the desk to come face to face with Sunakawa. "Have a little confidence, hm? You do realize it works both ways. If you tell Mina-chan you want me to leave, she'd probably beat me up and throw me out of here with her bare hands."

He can almost hear the cracks in Sunakawa's guard.

So he goes in for the kill.

Oikawa stands tall, crosses his arms, and looks down at Sunakawa. " _Suck it up_. Confess before you actually lose her to one of those generic first-years she kills time with."

A flash of anger crosses Sunakawa's face, but it's gone as quickly as it came. "It's complicated," he mumbles. "And you could take your own advice, you know."

"Like I'd lose Iwa-chan to anyone," Oikawa says airily.

Sunakawa puts his hood up and pulls the drawstrings. "Please go away, Oikawa-san. I won't let you have confidential data and I won't sit here and listen to your love 'advice.' ... I already told you, things aren't that simple."

"Oh, like my life is?" Oikawa challenges.

"That's not..." Sunakawa sighs. "Sorry. That's really not what I meant. Things must be complicated for you, too, and that's why neither of us can... you know."

_Neither of us? Oh no, I'm nothing like you._

"Speak for yourself," Oikawa says, then, with the haughty disdain usually reserved for and about Kageyama Tobio. "Why do you think I need Iwa-chan's address?"

_... what?_

_No, no no, I'm just going to make sure he's not dead or something. Say it. That's all it is. Tell Sleepy-kun._

(He doesn't. He can't.)

"... oh," Sunakawa says. He turns back to his computer and starts working again.

Oikawa shakes his head. "Never mind. Good luck with your thing."

"But while you're still here, Oikawa-san."

_Huh?_

Sunakawa walks over to a closed door and knocks.

"Shimada-sensei, I need to use the restroom. Oikawa-san, ah, Oikawa Tooru is here, do you mind if he watches the desk for a minute?"

"Oh that'd be great," Shimada says from inside. "Thanks!"

When Sunakawa is back at his desk, Oikawa starts to protest.

"Look, I needed to see Iwa-chan like, yesterday, so I really need to go find—"

Sunakawa lowers his hood and growls, "Shut. _Up_."

Oikawa does. 

Sunakawa clears his throat, and his voice is soft and quiet again. "... thank you. Erm, you probably won't need the computer for anything, but it's best if you look around and get familiar with it anyway. In... case... someone asks you to look something up on the website. Or something. So go ahead and have a seat."

_... I have my phone...?_

_Wait a minute._

_Oh_.

_Ohhhh._

_Really?! Is this a trick or something?_

Oikawa steps _veeeeery_ slowly around the desk, facing Sunakawa the entire time like he's dealing with a wild animal. He blindly gropes behind him to find the seat, sits—

The chair rolls out from under him, and he lands squarely on his ass.

Sunakawa crosses his arms and looks down. "I meant in the chair, Oikawa-san. Not the floor," he says mildly.

 _Smug asshole,_ Oikawa thinks. It takes him quite a lot of effort to ignore the snark and keep insults from tumbling out of his mouth. But he does, because _why are you doing this?_

"Your job, what—"

"Well, I'll be right back, then." Sunakawa nods to him and leaves.

Oikawa watches the door close and just sits there.

_That was... wow._

_Making sure Shimada doesn't come out here was a nice touch. I guess Mina-chan didn't pick the worst guy in the world._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_... Iwa-chan's still way better, though._

 

* * *

 

Oikawa goes over his plan one last time.

 _Step one: make sure Iwa-chan's alive and can still play piano._  
_Step two: kick him in the shins (minimum three times)._  
_Step three: ask him what he thought about Saturday._  
_Step four: make fun of him for not knowing how to use a phone._  
_Step five: drag him somewhere for dinner._

He feels good about it. So he knocks on Iwaizumi's door.

There's a dull thud on the other side of the door before it swings open.

"Ow," Iwaizumi says, rubbing his head.

_Alive? Check. All ten fingers? Okay. (Thank God.) Doesn't he look a little pale? And Iwa-chan's probably the least clumsy—oh, whatever. Step two—_

Iwaizumi blinks at him. "Oikawa?"

"Iwa-chan, what the hell? You better have a good explanation—"

"No. Way."

" _What?!_ Oh my God, you, I can't believe, I'm gonna kill—"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. "You're not gonna believe this. I was just thinking 'I wish Oikawa was here' like five minutes ago and here you are. Holy shit."

He grabs Oikawa's hand and pulls him inside.

_Huh???_

 

* * *

 

Inside, Iwaizumi trips over a fallen floor lamp and lands on his face.

Oikawa gapes at him—

_What the..._

—and at the room.

_Holy shit._

"Iwa-chan, I know you're messy, but _this?_ "

The only clear floorspace is the path from the piano to the bathroom. There's spilled food and drink, a bunch of CD and DVD cases, broken pencils, used spoons and forks, random sheets of paper—

A music history textbook lies open on the piano lid. It's probably the only face-up book in the entire room, and compared to all the junk on the floor it almost looks like it's on a pedestal.

Oikawa catches the section heading—Beethoven: Middle Period. It's probably the book from Shimada's second-year history class, which means that the text describes:

Beethoven overcoming the first stages of hearing loss.[1]   
The overarching sense of "heroism" in his music from 1802 to 1812.  
And analysis of three landmark compositions bearing this theme:

Beethoven's third symphony _"Eroica"_ , his twenty-first piano sonata _"Waldstein"_ ,[2] ... and his fifth piano concerto _"Emperor."_  
  
_Iwa-chan...?_

 

...

 

A clear, sonorous Eb major chord fills the room, even when the dirty laundry all over the place dampens some of the sound.

Oikawa turns to face the piano. His fingers seem to recognize the cadenza before he fully registers what Iwaizumi is playing. They twitch and tap and—

_Fast. Way too fast!_

The second chord, now. 

_You can't play the orchestra's part!_

He wants to talk and ask and understand what all of this is about, but instead he listens. He can't help it, can't make himself say "stop"...

(He even forgets how to speak for a full three seconds after the concerto ends.)

 

...

 

"Oh, my bad, meant to stop earlier," Iwaizumi says. "But, yeah. I can do it, right? I think I'm at least as good as that guy who played before you."

_Who?_

_Oh. He means at the competition._

_So Iwa-chan really did come see me play...!_

Oikawa laughs for the first time today. "He was awful. Why does he matter?"

"Well, he still got to play on that stage in front of all those people."

_Hm? He's making it sound like..._

"What are you getting at, Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath. "I wanna do it, too." His voice is steady, determined, eager. "After hearing you, I just... So I wanted to ask you what you think. Honest answer, no bullshit, all right? Am I good enough?"

Their eyes meet, and Oikawa catches a glimpse of a wild party at midnight in a gazebo floating on a sea of roses in the darkest, midnight black.

 

* * *

 

_("Someone like me can only do something like this because you showed me how to get here. Just like your dad always did.")_

 

_Yeah, and look how that turned out._

_I definitely, absolutely will_ not _pull Iwa-chan into this kind of world._

 

* * *

 

"Iwa-chan, you definitely, absolutely can _not._ "

Iwaizumi throws a pencil at him. "Goddamnit, Oikawa, at least pretend to think about it."

_It's a lie. It's such a lie. Of course you can._

Oikawa has to convince _himself_ that this is for the best. He throws out every reason he can think of. "There's no way I mean think about it you don't read the music you add random notes you speed up and slow down whenever you want sometimes I can't even tell what you're doing I mean _who_ plays the beginning of Rach 2 _that fast?_ "

Iwaizumi says nothing.

"If your trio had played something with an interesting piano part," Oikawa adds, "it would've been a disaster. No accompanist, no group, no orchestra can keep up with you."

"..."

"I—"

_—won't let you become the kind of person who'll throw everything away just to be famous._

"—don't think you're cut out for this."

 

He catches a glimpse of Iwaizumi's expression and can't bear to look at him head-on. So he turns away... and notices the names of famous pianists and orchestras on those CD and DVD cases scattered everywhere.

_... Iwa-chan..._

"Hey," he says softly. "You've been trying to learn this since Saturday, haven't you.

"..."

_All the tripping and stumbling..._

"When was the last time you slept?"

"..."

 _God. I'm right._ I'm _supposed to be the one doing this, not him! He's not used to it. And he looks so upset. Why?_

"Why are you so obsessed with this? What about teaching?"

Iwaizumi frowns. "You'll joke about it, and I'll feel like punching you, and that's bad news for both of us."

_Heh. I don't think I'd mind... but he doesn't need to know that._

"Scoot over," Oikawa says. He sits next to Iwaizumi on the too-small bench and slips his hand under his. Their fingers bump and tangle, misunderstand each other, don't quite mesh—

"Oh my _God_ , Iwa-chan, if you tell me you're bad at cleaning _and_ holding hands, I'm _done_. I will walk out that door _right now._ "

He turns to look at Iwaizumi and wants to laugh so, so much.

_I know my face is red, but I can almost see smoke come out of Iwa-chan's ears._

But the whole point is to prove he won't laugh, so he thinks about dead hamsters.

"Sorry for, um, thinking you would," Iwaizumi mumbles, threading their fingers together properly and staring hard at their joined hands. "I just... I don't know if I want to kick you or kiss you whenever you open your damn mouth."

Oikawa considers this for a moment.

_Huh. I could be into that..._

_Wait, no, irrelevant._

_Well, pretty relevant actually no UGH Jesus Christ FO-CUS._

He takes a few deep breaths. "I promise I won't laugh. So, why?"

Iwaizumi is _still_ looking down, but he sneaks a sideways glance at Oikawa him and seems satisfied with what he sees. 

"When I was little, there was this kid, we had the same piano teacher. I don't remember that much, but he was really good I guess? He competed all the time and our teacher made us go watch. It was kinda, no, _really_ boring. He kept winning, but... I don't know. But _you_... Saturday... do you know how amazing you are? It's just _right_ , the way you play, and it looked _fun_. I want that kind of music under my fingers all the time... at least, as much as possible. It's what you do, right?"

Oikawa feels a heavy sense of dread forming inside his chest. He doesn't want to say this, to see more hurt and disappointment, but.

"Iwa-chan... If it's you, you won't have any fun playing the way someone else tells you to."

_Honestly, I would really, truly love to see you on stage... but more than that, I would hate to see you unhappy. Classical performance just isn't right for you._

_(... And what about teaching?)_

Iwaizumi looks away. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry for dragging you in here." He untangles their fingers, pulls his hand away, clenches his hand in a fist tight enough to make all of his knuckles white.

 _No, no, wrong, stop. Don't be sorry. I_ wanted _to see you... but not like this._

 _There_ has _to be something I can do. Even if it's just a band-aid._

_..._

_(Just kiss him already. Isn't this is the perfect time? To take his mind off things a bit?)_

He thinks back to past flings, dates, relationships, remembers that it's a tried and true technique for putting off fights, getting some peace and quiet, slapping on a band-aid until the problem just magically disappears. 

_But it won't work, not with Iwa-chan. He's not just gonna forget—he wants this too much. I can't just push it aside, cover it up, give up on dealing—_

_Oh my God, wait._

 

...

 _Does he think I was just trying to blow him off_ _?_ _I keep telling him no, he can't, he won't have fun..._

_(that he's not good enough)_

...

 

Oikawa stands up abruptly. "Put some pants on and get your coat."

"Huh?"

"Concertos sound so weird when you're practicing, right?" he says, putting on his coat and tying his shoes without a hitch in his words. "I mean, you're not supposed to play them alone. It's just not the same without an orchestra to fill in the blanks. So you're gonna play it for real, with accompaniment this time."

 _Listen to yourself, hear how incredible you are. Get that awful feeling_ _out of your system_.

Iwaizumi looks half-confused and half-annoyed. "You just said nobody—"

Oikawa opens the door and takes a step outside. The sudden blast of cold air feels _good_ , like it freezes all the "no"s and "can't"s swirling inside the room.

"You should know this by now. I'm not just 'anybody.'"

And then he looks back over his shoulder with a hint of a smirk.

"I'm the best damn accompanist you'll ever have, because I'm the _only_ pianist in the world who's good enough to keep up with you. Now come on."

 

* * *

 

Tooru plants his feet in the sand. He's angry. _Furious_.

... Okay, not really, because they're at the beach again and the weather's perfect and he's with his best friend.

Still, rules are rules.

He crosses his arms and tries his best to frown. " _I_ - _wa_ - _chan_. We're supposed to be making castles, remember? _Castles_. What the _heck_ are _you_ doing?"

Hajime adds a toe to the giant sand cat he's been working on.

"I really like cats, though," he says. "Don't you?"

Tooru pouts. "I do really like cats..." he says in a small voice. But one look at Hajime's now-slightly-smug expression gets him fired up again.

"That's not the point! We're not making cats today!" he huffs. (But he wants to. _Maybe Pouncy can come to the beach next time._ )

Hajime rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, fine, we'll make a castle. But help me finish this cat first. I'll let you name him, if you want."

"... 'kay."

 

* * *

 

Oikawa tries to keep the tempo reasonable, but Iwaizumi just plays faster and faster and _faster_.

And then the section repeats. This time, they keep a slow and consistent beat. 

_Wait, why are we playing so damn slow?_

And then Oikawa realizes something else. 

_'Consistent' is the wrong word. It's 'mechanical'. Boring._

He catches Iwaizumi's eye, and Iwaizumi _yawns_.

_You asshole! You're just humoring me, aren't you._

Oikawa is angry. _Furious_.

(He is one-hundred-percent neither of those things, because, well, _because it's Iwa-chan._ )

Still, he has his pride to protect.

He sticks his tongue out. "You're making fun of me and it's _meeeean_." 

Iwaizumi laughs. "Sorry! Sorry. But you make this really dumb face when you start falling behind—"

"Iwa-chan!"

"It's cute! Learn how to take a compliment, Oikawa." 

Iwaizumi is still laughing, his voice carried by the music that's floating out of his piano. The sounds mix and mingle, and Oikawa hears—

 _... How does something_  sound _pink?_   _Fluffy?_

He laughs, too. _I really shouldn't let Iwa-chan take control._

(But he does, because it's just the two of them and this is _their music_.)

 

* * *

 

There are _at least_ twenty students crammed into the back of the recital hall to eavesdrop on their concerto.

"Can you believe Oikawa-san is already practicing for the finals?" says a first-year student. "Dunno why he got a new accompanist though, that girl seemed decent."

"Who _is_ that, anyway?" their friend asks.

A third person gasps. "He was in my theory class last year! He was already a third-year, right, but his grades sucked so hard that he had to retake _first-year_ theory."

A few students laugh, but someone says, "That can't be right. I've seen that guy around. They're together, right? You know, _together_ -together. I can't imagine Oikawa Tooru with someone who got held back a year."

"Yeah," a new voice confirms. "They're definitely a couple. I heard he just moved in with Oikawa-san."

"Whoa."

"Huh."

"You guyyyyys, that just makes him more interesting! _Who the hell is he??_ "

 

* * *

 

Oikawa is 16 years old and standing inside a school gym he doesn't recognize. He looks down at what he's wearing and grimaces. There's a number on his _polyester_ shirt and a knee supporter on his leg and _where the hell did this volleyball come from?!_

"Iwa-chan, why the fuck are we playing volleyball?"

He smoothly tosses the ball without thinking.

Iwaizumi grins and jumps and spikes the ball _hard_.

"'Cause it's fun, stupid."

 

* * *

 

"Iwa-chan, that's from a _Mozart sonata!"_

"Oops. My bad. I learned that one like two weeks ago. It's pretty fun, have you—"

"OH MY GOD just play your stupid cadenza."

 

* * *

 

It's been hours since the battle began, which is bad enough, but it feels like _days_. Oikawa is exhausted, and he's pretty sure he's being roasted alive in his plate armor. Although he would never admit this out loud, he's glad his shield shattered earlier. _Everything else is heavy enough!_

The din of forests burning in a raging fire and mountains crumbling into boulders and stones and dust makes it hard to hear anything at all, but Oikawa calls out anyway. He knows Iwaizumi can always hear him, always stands by him, even as the ruler of a rival kingdom.

"Hey Iwa-chan! Isn't there some rule or whatever about kings not fighting on the front lines?"

Iwaizumi rips off his own helmet and throws it to the ground. "Tell that to the fucking dragon trying to eat us, dumbass!"

Oikawa does the same and winks. "I will after we kill it. Ready?"

"Whenever you are."

 

* * *

 

They charge into the final section in perfect sync.

 

* * *

 

Misaki and Akaashi are among the students watching and listening. He shakes his head. "So you have to be  _this_  good for Tooru to play for you. I think that means you and Hanamaki-san and this person are the only ones who 'qualify' at school."

"I don't think he ever thought playing for me was 'accompaniment'," Misaki shakes her head and smiles. "More like chamber music. Hanamaki, though...  _he's_  the one who's probably as good as this person on stage. You know about Maradona, right, that huge competition run by the Paris Conservatory? Hanamaki made it to the finals during our first year, and of course Tooru was his accompanist. That was the only other time I've seen him like _this_."

There's a warm glow in her eyes as she watches the performers on stage. "He was so, so happy just playing for... no, _with_ Hanamaki, even outside the spotlight. I think he feels the same way right now." 

Akaashi cocks an eyebrow at her. "Do you still..."

"Still what? ... Oh!" she snorts and giggles, doesn't stop even though people are shushing her. "God, no! Really? You had to ask? You of all people should know how impossible he is! When I turned eighteen, he gave me a birthday card with a list of my bad singing habits. And one of those electric metronomes with a built-in tuner. I think it's the most useful _and_ most offensive present I've ever gotten."

"He can be pretty awful," Akaashi says, with a flare of darkness.

"Oh shoot, I'm sorry." Misaki lowers her voice to a whisper. "I heard it was messy for you guys, but I didn't know if that was true..."

Akaashi sidesteps the implied question. "When we were together," he explains, "I hung on his every word, lied to all of my friends when he asked me to, accompanied him instead of learning my own music. I looked up to him, loved him, but in all the wrong ways... breaking up was a good idea. And now I know what _not_ to do in a relationship."

The two of them are silent for a long time.

After a while:

"Hey, Akaashi-kun," Misaki says.

"Hm?"

"Just between you and me..." she winks at him. "Doesn't it feel nice to see someone dragging _him_ around for a change?"

The corners of Akaashi's lips quirk up. "I suppose it does."

 

* * *

 

"Iwa-chan, no."

"Come on, Oikawa." 

" _No._ I'm tired and I'm hungry, let's go eat."

"But playing like this is awesome!" Iwaizumi unwraps a packet of milk bread and hands it to Oikawa. "Just one more time. So I can remember."

"NO." Oikawa takes a giant bite. After chewing a few times, he realizes something. "... wait, 'remember' what? You already memorized the whole thing."

"Not the concerto. I mean _this_." Iwaizumi tilts his head back and looks into the rafters. "This place. Now. Today. You."

Their eyes meet, then, and for a moment Oikawa forgets where they are and what they're doing. Only the sound of Iwaizumi's voice around his name snaps him out of his daze.

(Or pushes him in even deeper.)

"Oikawa. Did you, um. Change your mind about me?"

Iwaizumi leaves his bench to join Oikawa on his, turns and leans in close like even the pianos aren't allowed to hear what he's about to say. 

"You know, that stuff I was saying earlier... I don't think I need any of that anymore," he whispers, "if I get to do this with you."

Oikawa chokes on a chunk of bread. 

After two solid rounds of coughing and hacking, he finally manages to say, " _FINE_ one more time _shut up_ don't _say_ stuff like that without warning me, stupid!"

Iwaizumi hands him a bottle of water.

" _You_ _win_ ," Oikawa grumbles. "But this is the fourth and FINAL time. _And_ you're buying me dinner."

Iwaizumi shrugs. "I was gonna do that anyway."

For the first ( _and the last goddamnit_ ) time in his life, Oikawa gets the urge to  _squeal_. 

_I can't believe Iwa-chan... is actually really cool...  
_

He hangs his head in defeat... and hits it against the piano a few times for good measure.

 

* * *

 

"Oi!" Ukai claps his hands together with a loud _SMACK!_ and strides across the lobby towards the commotion. He frowns when he sees students trying to get into the recital hall.

"It's all locked up. Go practice if you've got time to—"

The door opens just enough for a student to poke his head outside. "Like I said," he hisses, "they'll notice if more people come in! So shut up already, we can hear—"

Ukai looms over him.

"Ohmygod sorry!" The student looks like he's about to pass out from shock. "I'm so sorry, Sensei Ukai-san-sei I mean—"

He squirms past Ukai into the lobby and runs away.

Ukai rolls his eyes and pulls the door wide open—

...

A new rumor was born at that very moment, though it would remain dormant for some time:

"Iwaizumi Hajime ("The pianica guy!") is the first ("The only?") student whose playing made the General _completely speechless_."

 

* * *

 

On Sunday, the day before third term begins,

 

Oikawa is lying face down in bed with a brain-melting hangover from last night.

With Iwaizumi perfectly satisfied after their "performance" and the Miyaki finals almost three months from now, Oikawa _might've_ had a little too much to drink at the send-off party for Tanya and Kuroki he hosted last night. Or, more like _way_ too much to drink, because for some reason he thinks he remembers Nekomata (??) and Takeda (?????) tied for first place in a drinking game while Tanya was passed out on the sofa. (?????????)

He laughs at the absurdity of Tanya losing a drinking game... and groans when that hurts his head even more.

_Ugh. Wonder if I can get Iwa-chan to come over. where's my phone?_

When he finds it, the notification light is blinking.

 

  
Iwaizumi is in his kitchen, eating lunch and making a grocery list. He got some very, very interesting messages from Oikawa last night, so he's planning on making "Takeda-sensei's (in)famous hangover cure."

It involves, among other ingredients, white chocolate, miso, and a duck egg. He's sure it doesn't do anything, this recipe from a teacher who's probably never had a hangover _and_ doesn't know how to cook.

But he wants to see Oikawa try and drink it anyway.

_... wait._

_He probably has a really bad headache, and drinking this on top of that..._

_..._

_..._

_Eh, he can just wash it down with juice. I'll just get more of those cans he likes._

With that millisecond of guilt out of the way, he goes back to his list.

_Maybe it's a chicken egg and milk chocolate... I should ask Takeda-sensei what tastes the worst together. Where's my phone?_

 

  
Yachi sits in front of a piano at the university where Shimizu and Sawamura are students. Surviving Towa Hall was the motivation ( _the victory!_ ) she needed to _finally_ ask her roommate for help dealing with stage fright.

Shimizu immediately put together a week-long plan that concludes with a mini performance today, with her friends from high school as the test audience.

Sugawara counts off the roster using his fingers. "We have me and Shimizu for moral support, Daichi for someone you kind-of-sort-of recognize, Asahi for someone who looks big and scary, and Noya for noise."

"Suga-san! I can't boo or say mean things to people who don't deserve them," Nishinoya says firmly.

"Oh, I'm aware of that," Sugawara replies. "Which is why you're going to say _nice_ things about Yachi-san, because that makes her even _more_ nervous. We'll kill her with kindness." 

"Yeah!" Nishinoya gives him a thumbs up. "I can do that!"

Shimizu sighs. "Sugawara... you're the only person I know who can be caring and sadistic at the same time."

Yachi's blood runs cold.  _Sugawara-senpai was supposed to make this easier!!_

Her phone makes a _ting!_ sound.

" _I'll get it!!!_ " she shrieks, running away from the piano (and from Sugawara) to grab her phone.

 

 

By some cosmic and convenient coincidence, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Yachi check their email at the same time.

And all three of them yell, at the top of their lungs,

"WHAAAAAAAAT?!"

 

 

Oikawa chants at his phone, willing the words to change or disappear. "No, no no no, no no no nono. No. _No_."

Iwaizumi throws his phone across the room like it's a bomb.

Yachi knows that she just did something embarrassing, and everyone's gawking at her, but she doesn't (can't) mind right now because—

"Um, I think I just figured out how to stop worrying so much... I just need to be _even more_  worried for someone else."

 

* * *

 

The following email was sent to the entire piano division.

 

NEW STUDIO ASSIGNMENTS (TERM III)

Iwaizumi Hajime  
Takeda Ittetsu -> Ukai Ikkei

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1 See [Heiligenstadt Testament](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heiligenstadt_Testament). I think this will come up in a future chapter so I'll just leave it at that.[return to text]
> 
> 2 [Symphony no. 3 in Eb major, Op. 55 "Eroica"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbGV-MVfgec) (Ludwig van Beethoven) 
> 
> _Eroica_ is the Italian word for heroic. 
> 
> [Sonata No. 21 in C major, Op. 53 "Waldstein"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3l18HTo5rY) (Ludwig van Beethoven)  
>  Often, nicknames like "Waldstein" are just the composer's patron's name and don't really mean much else. However Count Waldstein did try to make his own army to fight Napoleon, which can be considered heroic I guess? ... but he was pretty much just a warmonger.[return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> EXTRA
> 
> There are bits and pieces of real musicians in Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Yachi to help fill in the blanks left by Haikyuu and Nodame canon. First up is cellist Jacqueline du Pré for Iwaizumi. A few quotes about her:
>
>> "[Her knowledge of music theory] left a bit to be desired, to be quite objective. But she more than made up for that with an extraordinary intuition and sensitivity. I have never encountered somebody like this."
> 
>  
>
>> "She strode like an amazon and yet she was manifestly shy. I thought, 'How the hell can you be a striding amazon and be shy, at the same time.'"
> 
>  
>
>> "She had a capacity that was very rare – she could become one with the music. She didn’t have to learn the notes and think what to do with them."
> 
>  
>
>> "Jackie elevated me, as I have seen her elevating other people all the time, both by her capacity for artistic expression and by the natural, heartening, honest exuberance of her personality."  
> 
> 
>   
> Jacqueline du Pré and conductor & pianist Daniel Barenboim / Iwaizumi and Oikawa:
> 
> As the old lady at the church mentioned, du Pré and Barenboim were a popular 'star couple' as classical musicians and performed together for as many years as her health would allow.
> 
> (Just in case anyone ends up looking her up on Wikipedia or whatever: this is NOT foreshadowing. Everyone is healthy in this story!)
> 
> Two quotes about them, to wrap up this chapter:
>
>> "Miss du Pre met Daniel Barenboim at a party in London in 1966. 'Instead of saying good evening,' she later recalled, 'we sat down and played Brahms.' They were married in June 1967."
> 
>  
>
>> "Mr. Barenboim was once asked what it was like to accompany his wife. 'Difficult,' he replied. 'It doesn't dawn on her sometimes that we mortals have difficulties in following her.'"  
> 


	17. Improvisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, dreams are embellished memories.
> 
> Sometimes, dreams pretend to be memories.
> 
> (But sometimes...)

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, dreams are embellished memories.

 

* * *

 

Nearly every orchestra manager in the city had kicked Tooru out of a rehearsal at one point or another, but Tooru kept sneaking into them anyway. Watching orchestra rehearsals would make him a better musician—his dad was living proof. He'd never give up on a chance to improve.

But he _had_ been avoiding the Roux-Marlet, even though the orchestra manager there loved him _and_ Hajime (loved that her orchestra _finally_ had fans under retirement age). The problem was the assistant conductor. If _he_ caught them, he would probably give Tooru the smallest piece of whatever dessert they were having after dinner tonight and the silent treatment for a week.

Breaking rules there was like playing with fire... but they were the only orchestra rehearsing today. So Hajime and Tooru sacrificed acoustics in favor of sitting under the mezzanine where shadows hid them from view.

It was a rehearsal for an anniversary concert, one celebrating the fifth year of the Roux-Marlet Orchestra's revival. In the two decades prior, the orchestra saw a steady decline in concert attendance due to the rise of newer ensembles with younger musicians, flashier marketing, bigger budgets. Its historical reputation as one of Paris's first professional orchestras was what kept it alive, not its music.

But five years ago, a small group of people converged and connected with this orchestra at its core: two young conductors, fresh out of Momogaoka—a senpai and kouhai determined to bring the Roux-Marlet back to life;

an agent/manager/musician-wrangler who just _made things happen_ as if by magic, no questions asked (as in, "Don't ask questions about how she does it, you don't want to know.");

and a quiet, unassuming oboist who dazzled the city with his Mozart at their first concert together and set the orchestra's revival in motion—the same oboist standing on stage today, rehearsing the same piece with the same orchestra, ready to give Paris a performance unlike any other.[1] One only possible after five years of phenomenal, explosive growth as the new Roux-Marlet Orchestra.

The two boys watched the musicians on stage get ready to play. Hajime whispered, "I kinda expected Kuroki-san to look, iunno, a little flashier on stage? Since he's the soloist and stuff."

<The right tux does miraculous things for even the most dull, plain-looking man,> Tooru replied.

Hajime frowns at this. "Stop quoting Tanya. It's weird."

"How is it weird? Just because you—shh, they're starting!"

"Don't shush me when _you're_ talking, stupid!"

...

Hajime and Tooru tried to split their Saturdays mornings fifty-fifty. Hajime would make Tooru go to the park and look at the clouds, and Tooru would make Hajime go to rehearsals to look at the sounds.

"What do you see?" Tooru asked, like he always did.

"A guy with robot lungs or something," Hajime said in awe. "How long has he been playing that one note?"

Tooru nodded in agreement. "Pretty amazing, right? But I meant, in the music."

"Iunno, it's just really pretty." Hajime shrugged, mostly focusing on the rehearsal.

"Iwa-chaaan," Tooru chided, "you're gonna have to do better than that.

It took Hajime a very long time to respond to this. "Let's see..." he said, at last. "It's like, the kind of person who's really beautiful without any makeup or flashy clothes—"

"Make sure you don't say this kind of thing in front of Tanya," Tooru warned.

Hajime glared at him. "Don't be rude, her clothes are cool. What was I saying... This concerto is so... Mozart. I mean, you can tell it's Mozart after like, ten seconds, and every oboe player in the world plays it. It's familiar, it's comfortable, it's like someone you've known since forever. But there's also something that's totally different about him, something that makes him _way_ better than everyone else." 

"It's hard to tell at first, you know? Some people think this kind of Mozart is shallow and and repetitive, but when you listen really carefully you  _get_ it. That he's pretty damn complicated. And interesting. And awesome. How can anyone _not_ like him?"

Tooru frowned. He felt like he was missing something... and there was something in Hajime's voice that bothered him. Something soft, something sweet. 

_I must be imagining things._

"When I said 'do better,'" Tooru said, while wondering why his own voice sounded so annoyed all of a sudden. "I meant like, another sentence. You must really love Yassun's playing, huh."

Hajime shook his head and laughed to himself. "Yeah. Way more than you can imagine."

 _Wonder if Iwa-chan'll ever say that about my playing,_ Tooru thought. _No, no wondering. I'll make him._

"Well, _I'm_ gonna be just as good," he declared. "Maybe even better. Just watch, the next pianist on that stage is gonna be me."

(It wasn't the first time he thought or said something like this, but he's more fired up now than ever.)

"Okay, yeah, sounds good," said Hajime. "I'll have time to watch you, 'cause I would've played _my_ concerto with them already."

This was blasphemy to Tooru. "No no, this is _my_ orchestra, that's _my_ stage. Get your own."

"Just 'cause it's your stage or whatever doesn't mean _I_ can't play on it _first_."

"Noooo, I have connections here." Tooru blew a raspberry. 

"Hah!" Hajime slapped his knee and snorted and laughed like this was the most hilarious thing he's ever heard. "Oh man. Seriously? 'Connections'? Yeah, okay. _In your dreams_ , idiot. Kuroki-san and your dad would _never_ make something like this easy for you. They'd probably get in your way on purpose. That stage is _mine_."

"Nooooooo, _I_ have—OW owow ow ow—"  
"AHH! Ow what ow—"

The figure looming over them/person with a death grip on each of their ears said, coolly, "I'll ban _both_ of you from that stage if you keep making a racket back here."

Hajime and Tooru glanced sheepishly at each other, then up at the source of their pain.

"Oops," said Hajime. "Sorry."  
"Sorry, Dad," said Tooru at the same time.

The man scribbled something in a notebook, tore out the page, and put it on Tooru's head.

"Homework," he said. As he was leaving, he looked back over his shoulder and added, "We're going to the hospital after this."

Tooru scrambled out of his chair. "Why? What happened?" Hajime caught the sheet of paper before it fell to the ground and frowned at it.

"Nothing serious. Karin sprained her ankle."

Hajime looked up, curiosity in plain sight. "Did she go to the river again?"

"Oh. Mom was doing something dumb again, wasn't she," said Tooru. "Wait, Iwa-chan, why do you sound _jealous?_ "

His dad sighed. "It's her own damn fault. She's supposed to be _practicing_ , not playing with little brats in the park."

Tooru sighed, looking and sounding just like his father without even trying. "I'll make dinner tonight. The pastry shop has a new chocolate cake out, by the way."

"So? Why would I care?"

The two kids' faces clearly said,  _Are you seriously still trying to be cool._

 _This is like, the fiftieth time,_ Hajime thought.  _Even I know how this works._  
Tooru tried not to laugh. _He treats her like a princess when he thinks I'm not watching._

The man pressed his lips into a thin line and pulled a credit card from his wallet. Without looking at his son, he muttered, "... Tell Madame Leclair I said hello. Get yourselves something as long as it doesn't spoil your appetite."

Tooru pocketed the card and grinned. "Hey, Iwa-chan, you're gonna stick around tonight, right? Mom'll be happy if you play for her... for some unimaginable reason mankind will never understand."

Hajime scoffed. "Because I'm better than you, stupid."

"Um, excuse me? Who won the last competition?"

"Who got a higher score on juries?"

"Competitions are  _obviously_ more important than juries—"

" _Both of you._ OUT."

...

"Hey, what'd Dad write on that piece of paper?"

Hajime smiled. "He sure puts a lot of thought and effort into pretending he doesn't care."

(A list of double concertos,[2] ranked in order of difficulty, and the words "learn to share" underlined three times across the bottom of the page.)

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, dreams pretend to be memories.

 

* * *

 

<Hey Tooru. Hey. Check this out.>

Tooru ignored Hajime and continued weaving his way through the Saturday-morning shopping crowd at the street market.

Hajime tried again. "Look at this real quick."

"We're already late!" Tooru yelled. "And I understood you the first time!"

"Come on, I gotta show you something. Stop for a sec."

... Annnd he did. Because having a massive crush on your best friend means that you're always the one who gives in first.

Hajime waited until he was sure Tooru was watching. He grinned, held out a handful of little toothpick-skewered pieces of fruit and meat and cheese, and shoved all of it in his mouth.

 _Oh man that looks really good,_ Tooru thought.  
"Eww, Iwa-chan, that's so gross!" Tooru said.

"'han' oo," Hajime replied. He snagged a piece of orange from the greengrocer's stand next to them and ate that too.

Tooru was supposed to be angry at Hajime, but he was getting mad at himself instead.

_Why does this make me like him more??_

_I'm such an idiot. Iwa-chan, of all people... He's dumb and gross and his clothes are muddy all the time. He doesn't tuck his uniform in and he farts a lot._

(Tooru couldn't imagine liking anyone else.)

_He's funny and he's good at telling stories. He's better at sports than all the kids in the neighborhood, better at piano than everyone in our year. Except me. Obviously. He works hard, he always stays calm, and he always keeps his promises. He helps everybody, no matter what._

_But._

_He's popular. Way too popular. He only ever talks about girls. I don't think Dad likes him. He sucks at Bach. And he got all weird after I beat him in the competition..._

The one thing Tooru would never compromise. They were rivals during competitions, not friends.

_So this is what a lose-lose situation is like. Damn it. Damn it!_

In a fit of frustration, Tooru lashed out. "Y-you probably already got us in trouble. They're not even gonna let us in, and we'll miss the whole rehearsal, and it's all your fault! You're dumb and you're gross and you're weird and I don't even know why I like you!"

...

...

...

_Wait a minute._

Tooru replayed the words in his mind.

_Oh my God oh my God oh my God_

He _shoved_ everyone around him aside to clear a path and broke into a run, not caring about who or what he ran into as long as he could get out.

_Crap. Crap. Crap. I always say dumb stuff in front of him. Crap._

The market street opened into the park, and Tooru zoomed across the playground while trying to think of a hiding spot Hajime didn't know about.

"Oof!"

Some unseen force made it impossible to move forward, and he fell back on his butt.

A voice above him said, "Gotcha! Jeez, you're getting fast. You would've gotten away if I couldn't grab your backpack."

And then a hand holding one of those really good mini chocolate croissants came into view. When Tooru didn't take it, Hajime knelt down in front of him with a sad expression he'd never seen before.

"Look, I'm, um..." Hajime looked away. "I'm really sorry."

Tooru blinked. _Oh. So this is what it's like to be rejected._ (Dull and empty from letting that secret loose, exhausted from trying to look like you're perfectly fine.)

He'd decided, long ago, that he would never confess. _I'm lucky I even have a best friend. I'm not gonna scare him away._

 _And then I opened my big mouth._ By _accident_. No planning, no running simulations in his head, nothing.

_Lame. Pathetic. Worst. Day. Ever._

Until he heard, "You're thinking too loud, again."

Because that's when a slightly-sticky thumb pressed softly, almost delicately, into his cheek, followed by fingers settling on the back of his neck.

He felt the tip of Hajime's nose nudge his.

"Sorry I made us late. Don't be mad, okay? I won't do it again." Hajime said, and closed the distance between their lips.

Tooru's mind went blank, occupied only with:

 _"Mad"?_  

_What does "mad" mean, again?_

He realized he didn't care about the answer and went back to thinking nothing _._ (Wonderful, blissful _nothing._ )

They pulled apart, but their noses were still touching. Tooru's head was swimming and his mouth was hanging open because  _why did you do that,_ _what just happen—_

"Hmmffffff!"

Hajime shoved the croissant into Tooru's mouth, said "I like you too" while grinning ear to ear, and ran off towards the concert hall.

 

* * *

 

The rest was a blur of sounds, snatches of conversations constructed from reality and fantasy.

 

* * *

 

"Mom! Elise said your next concert's in Berlin!"

"Yay! Eli-chan's the best! I really wanna give her a good present."

"Yeah? What are you thinking?"

"Well, she keeps breaking the tables in her interrogation room, so I think a really solid wood one would be nice."

"You guys are so weird."

 

* * *

 

"Tooru, listen to me very carefully. When did you and Hajime-chan—"

"Hiroko-san, please stop calling me that."

"Shush. When did you and Hajime-chan actually, like, seal the deal."

"Hiroko, what are you—"  
"Seal the—wha?"

"She means, when did the two of you first have sex."

"DAD what the hell??"  
"... last Tuesday?"

"IWA-CHAN."

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Yours truly will be embarking on an all-expenses paid trip to Switzerland and none of you get to come. Oh, Hajime-chan can. Good work, champ. You really held out, huh."

"I honestly don't know how to respond to that."  
"Wait, Dad, what was your guess??"

"Oh, Tooru. Don't forget, this is the guy who knocked up your mom when they were still in school. What do you _think_ he said? I won ages ago. But I had to get the week right if I wanted to go out of the country." 

"Hiroko, shut up. I'm going to rehearsal. And the trip is off if Karin finds out."

"Hey! You can't add new rules _after you lose!_ "

 

* * *

 

The heels of black leather dress shoes clicking against the polished stage. The A from an oboe—

"Everyone's here. I can't believe they all made it."

 

* * *

 

(But sometimes, dreams are tarnished by memories.)

 

* * *

 

"Mommy, um, did I do something bad? If you're mad, I can fix it, I don't want you to send me away."

"What?? _No!_  No, no no, please don't ever think that. That's not... You _know_ you're my favorite, most important person. And you wanna get better at piano, right? You will, with a real teacher. That's the _only_ reason why I want you to try taking lessons with her. One hour every week. That's all. Okay?"

"But _you're_ the _best_ , I bet you play _way_ better than her. So I should learn from _you_. You're a real teacher, you had a student and everything."

"One student. For, like, three months. Oh, that poor boy. He's a lot like you. He learns with logic and theory and figuring out all the technical bits... a really bright kid. I don't think I taught him anything. You  _know_ everyone makes fun of me for not getting that stuff. _You_ make fun of me for not getting that stuff."

"You  _are_ really bad at it."

"See? So can you try one lesson? Please? She's a lot like Hiroko-chan, that can be fun, right?  _And_ , her boyfriend's the first oboe in the Roux-Marlet. Daddy talked about him a lot. Do you remember hearing about a man named Kuroki? I bet he can come play for you at your lesson, and you can ask him all sorts of questions. He's really nice, he wouldn't mind."

 

* * *

 

"Tooru, at least eat something—"

"I'm fine! Go away."

"Just a little break? Five minutes? I know you wanna keep playing, but you can't push your body—"

" _You_ can't tell me what to do, you haven't touched a piano since forever! And what do you even know, you're never home anymore."

"That's—just for a little while."

"Dad always said you were _lazy_."

"... ... ... I'll, um. Check on you in an hour."

"Don't bother. I'm gonna practice at school."

"But it's dark out already! Please stay, I can go to Eli-chan's place until you—"

"Bye, _Mom!_ "

 

* * *

 

When Oikawa jerks awake, he's greeted by cold sweat, nausea, and Iwaizumi.

"Oh look, he's alive," Iwaizumi says in a monotone. "You still drunk or something? You left your door unlocked, anyone could've gotten in."

_Iwa-chan. How?_

_And why am I in bed? When did I even fall asleep? What..._

"I never asked you to come," Oikawa says in a daze. For the first time, he wishes he'd sounded happier, more excited. But all of this was confusing, and _that dream..._

"Oh. Oh, um." Iwaizumi turns his head away. "Yeah, guess not. I thought you, uh—never mind. I'll head out now. Make sure you drink some water."  

Oikawa's still not really awake yet, and his brain is six kinds of fucked up right now, but seeing Iwaizumi walk away still registers as A Bad Thing. He clamps his hand around Iwaizumi's wrist and _yanks_ with all his strength.

Iwaizumi stumbles backwards, trips over his own feet, trips  _again_ on the bed, falls face-down across Oikawa's legs.

" _Ow_  my arm doesn't bend that way! The hell are you doing?" He manages to set himself upright and starts scooting off the bed... until he sees the way Oikawa is looking at him. 

Meanwhile, Oikawa's mind is racing.  _Can I trust him? I need someone who won't spread rumors, someone who'll take this seriously, someone who won't think I've been overreacting._

 _Someone like Makki, Hana-chan, Chicken-Head, Kenma, Take-chan. At the very least._ Each of them knows _something_ about him, something that would attract too much attention and raise too many questions if word got out. And each of them has kept these somethings safely tucked away.

(It's the first reassuring thought he's had since waking up.)

_But._

_I want someone to keep_ all _of my secrets._

_(maybe I don't have to be alone anymore. I got to keep Hiroko, but now I want more)_

_Even the secrets that only I know. Here, with me, next to me, always within reach._

_(someone who won't rip me apart)_

 

_And that can only be Iwa-chan._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Oboe Concerto in C Major, K. 314](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDrVtXPpuRI) (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) 
> 
> [Kuroki and Tanya playing the Mozart for his Roux-Marlet audition](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOemF8wmIKY) from the live-action drama. 
> 
> [Kuroki performing the Mozart with the Rising Star Orchestra](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3n0rfn) from the anime. (This is an edit without dialogue.) [return to text]
> 
> 2 Concertos written for two solo instruments. [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Next chapter is almost done!


	18. Antiphony/Half cadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antiphony: Call-and-response between two musical phrases. One phrase 'calls', and the other 'responds' by echoing, opposing, completing, or addressing it some other way.
> 
> Half cadence: A type of phrase ending where a chord progression rests but must continue because it does not resolve. There is a sense of closure, but it sounds incomplete.

Oikawa's bedroom, like the rest of his apartment, is clean, bare, utilitarian—there's only a bed with a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a floor-length mirror mounted on the closet door. A single window revealing total darkness outside is the only thing that interrupts the unmarked walls painted in a cool, stark white.

In this room, Oikawa sits in bed looking disoriented and unsteady. "Why are you here?" he asks, voice heavy and lethargic.

The color drains from Iwaizumi's face, and his eyes glaze over. "Shit, I knew it," he says to himself, fingers digging into the mattress.

Oikawa frowns. "Now that I think about it, what makes you come to my practice room? Don't you have your own stuff to do?"

 

( _Crack._ )

 

"I _get_ it, all right?" Iwaizumi snaps, words brittle and fractured like ice. "I _said_ I was leaving. Don't stop me this time, you already made your point."

He gets to his feet and grabs his bag and stalks across the room without looking back.

... but (still, _still_  ) he pauses in the doorway, lingers for one, two, three—

Arms wrap around his body and hold him tight. Cold, dry lips graze the back of his neck, and he shivers despite the warmth pressed against his back.

"How?" Oikawa asks, nuzzling into Iwaizumi's hair. His voice is tentative, and soft in a way foreign to both of them. "Why do all this just for me when you're busy? How do you manage to show up exactly when I want to see you? How do you always know when I need you the most? Don't go, not now, not when I...."

The bag drops to the floor with a heavy thump, followed the muffled clatter of juice and coffee cans inside.

With a long inhale, Iwaizumi makes up for the breaths he'd forgotten to take. He turns around slowly, carefully, still wrapped in Oikawa's arms which loosen but don't release their hold. One of his hands settles on Oikawa's hip; the other smooths up and down his back. "I won't, if you want me to stay," he says. "I was gonna ask when you woke up... you still feeling sick? You're looking kinda rough."

With a long exhale, Oikawa releases the tension in his body and lets his arms hang easily around Iwaizumi's neck. "Mm, no, just a headache. I'm fine. ... I think. There was this dream..." He pulls Iwaizumi closer to him.

"Nightmare?"

"Something like that. I'll tell you later."

Iwaizumi wraps Oikawa in a tight hug. "Okay," he says, kissing Oikawa on his left temple. Then, a "I'm glad you're all right" is followed by a kiss low on his cheek.

Oikawa hums and turns his head to meet Iwaizumi, he closes his eyes—

Iwaizumi pinches Oikawa's side _as hard as he can_.

"OW fuck!" Oikawa _leaps_ back and, in an impressive feat of balance and flailing limbs, grabs the doorknob to stop himself from falling flat on his back.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" Iwaizumi yells. But it's followed by a little snort-laugh, the self-deprecating kind common among people who realize they're _choosing_ to be with the most annoying, most high-maintenance person they've ever met. And then he laughs some more when Oikawa slips and falls on his butt. 

"What's wrong with _me_?!" Oikawa squawks. "What's wrong with  _you_? Who visits someone and then leaves after thirty seconds? I don't know what 'point' you thought I was making, I was _simply_ stating facts and asking _legitimate_ questions."

Iwaizumi goes from amused to pissed off in less than _three_ seconds. "You're the goddamn _dumbass_ who _haaad_ to make things way harder than they needed to be. You couldn't just _start_ with that last question? Jesus fucking _Christ_ I thought you meant you didn't ever want me ar _rahhrrgggh_  you seriously took like, ten years off my life, damn it!"

(And then he turns away, perhaps to hide how relieved he looks.)

"Tch, _first_ of all," Oikawa scoffs, "can't you have a _civilized_ conversation without injuring another human being? And for the record, I asked those questions with pure intentions and zero subtext. You're the one who UGH  _why would you even think that?_ "

(He makes sure Iwaizumi is watching as he gingerly shields the pinch site with both of his hands to protect his too-painful-to-touch wound.)

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the very poor acting and scoffs right back. "I don't see any injured people here. And do you even know what 'pure' means? 'Cause _you've_ got nothing in common with it. Oh and ' _for the record,'_  here's an answer to your _legitimate_ question. It's not like I 'know' anything about what's going on with you, I just show up whenever I feel like it 'cause you always need to be fed and watered _by the way,_ you eat some _weird_  shit when you don't cook wait  _why am I supporting that?_ I'm never buying you energy drinks ever again. Hell, why do I put up with you at all?"

(He shakes his head, smiles, steps forward and holds out his hand.)

"Hey! That's _my_ line!" Oikawa screeches. "And what do you mean, 'fed and watered' I'm not some _animal_ like _you_ I still can't believe you _ate that meat I was marinating!_ Do you even know _how_ cooking works?! Don't know if you've noticed, but mankind has  _moved on_ from holding meat over a fire."

(He steps forward and takes Iwaizumi's hand.)

"Shut up!" Iwaizumi bellows. "God, quit being such a shit! Just give it a rest already. Plus it tasted really good, asshole!"

"I'm not gonna _give it a rest_ ," Oikawa shouts at the top of his lungs, "'cause it's in-cre-di-ble that a brainless _barbarian_ like you learned to use a microwave! Why do _I_ put up with _you?_ Oh and thanks I was worried it was too spicy for you _you're_ the asshole!" 

(They take one more step and meet right in the middle.)

 

* * *

 

When they enter each other's space, the air shifts and something melts away to reveal sincere adoration and affection hidden (or maybe in plain view all along) all this time.

"Iwa-chan..." Oikawa says, with an eye-crinkling smile only a few people have ever seen. "Were we arguing or having a normal conversation? If that was a fight, we're really bad at it."

Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa closer to him. "Eh," he shrugs with one shoulder. "We'll get better with practice."

Noses touch, and soft laughs are shared. (More and more masks are stripped away.)

"You _know_ why I'm here," Iwaizumi whispers. "Why I always look for you, why I always stay even when I'm bothering you—"

"You don't." Oikawa cuts in, quiet but stern. He lets their foreheads touch. "You never do. I want you with me and I'll keep telling you that until you believe it."

Iwaizumi pulls back—only a little, just enough for the two of them to see each other's faces.

(Hopefully, hopefully they realize they're seeing their own feelings reflected in the other's expression.)

He lets go of Oikawa's hand in favor of brushing his fringe out of the way and smoothing one thumb across his cheek. "Listen. All I wanna say is that I lo—"

_PLAP._

Oikawa smacks his hand over Iwaizumi's mouth and holds it there.

...

...

... They don't move. They don't breathe. They don't do _anything_ until Iwaizumi _veeeery_ slowly takes a few of Oikawa's fingers and moves his hand away like he's holding an exceptionally putrid unwashed sock.  
  
With a calm expression and a pleasant tone—his second-grade-teacher voice, most likely—Iwaizumi says, "I'm gonna punch you in the face in five seconds if this is another—"

And Oikawa blurts, "Iloveyou. I, um, yeah. A lot. So."

"..."

"..."

"......... What? Did you just..."

Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa and Oikawa stares back. Neither of them blink for a long, long time.

At last, they both scrunch up their faces and rub their eyes. Oikawa grins and sticks his tongue out. "I winnn~" 

Iwaizumi picks up a record sleeve from a nearby shelf and hits Oikawa on the head. "Damn it  _quit making that face it pisses me off._ No way you won, we blinked at the same time _wait_ before, that, what, happened...?" He trails off.

"I know it was a tie," Oikawa says dismissively. "The other thing. I said it first so I win."

"..."

"..."

Iwaizumi holds up the record sleeve again, slumps his shoulders, and tosses it away. "Is it just me, or are you extra stupid today? Is everything a competition to you? Do you like winning _that_ much?"

Oikawa crosses his arms and  _hmphs_... while blushing furiously. "But if you said it first, then I did afterwards, you'd think I was only saying it 'cause I had to. Because you're an idiot who thinks like that. Obviously. And what's wrong with wanting to win, anyway?"

Iwaizumi bites back a laugh. "Guess you wouldn't be you if you didn't think like that. But guess what? I like winning too."

He leans in and steals first place from Oikawa with a kiss.

 

* * *

 

The first kiss is simple, brief, just a little longer than the kind usually paired with "good morning" or "have a good day." But it's also the first time they connect with shared feelings, the first time they finally come together in the same place, at the same time, to welcome each other with open arms.

(Or did that already happen for Oikawa? When he found himself lying on the floor in the recital hall surrounded by magic, listening to _his_ music.)

> _The only time you're playing for yourself is when you're alone and you know no one's listening. So when someone tells me they like that, the music that's actually mine... that means something._
> 
> _And, if I've heard that person's music and feel the same way? Yes, I'm sure. Come with me. Stay with me._

"I'm in love with Iwaizumi Hajime"  
"I'm in love with Oikawa Tooru"

(Thoughts and feelings conveyed by this first kiss.)

...

They part for half a breath before meeting again—the second kiss between them, and a second connection forming when Oikawa's left hand finds Iwaizumi's right and fingers intertwine once again.

The surprise and uncertainty and delicacy packaged with their first kiss is gone, now, replaced by a heady rush of desire. Iwaizumi crowds Oikawa back into the bedroom until they're up against the wall; keeps him in place with their joined hands pinned above his head.

Their free hands roam, misbehave, explore, map out what they want (what they'll take). Oikawa reaches around Iwaizumi to slowly drag fingernails down the back of his neck, then to slide fingertips up the same path with as light of a touch as he can manage. 

"Feels good, keep doing that," Iwaizumi says, in a low, throaty timbre that makes Oikawa realize he definitely, absolutely has a _thing_ for that voice.  

So he keeps going. He lets his fingers glide towards the side of Iwaizumi's neck, the back of his jawline, up to tangle in his hair. A little experimental tug earns him a rough yet teasing "Trust me, we'll get to that later" from Iwaizumi that makes him weak in the knees.

Iwaizumi reaches around Oikawa and under the hem of his shirt, runs one fingertip across his back, across bare skin along the waistband of his pants guiding (getting in the way of) touch.

Oikawa squeaks, and laughs a little, and it  _should_ be cute but instead it makes a solid dent in Iwaizumi's patience and self-control. He's pretty much done with this "standing up" business— _there's a bed right there, for fuck's sake_ —so he reaches down and picks Oikawa up while thinking about kiss number three.

Once deposited on the bed, Oikawa doesn't waste time _thinking_ about kiss number three; he grabs a fistful of Iwaizumi's shirt and tugs and smashes their lips together. He's over figuring out what he wants and moves on to _taking_ what he wants. The bitterness of being shown dreams made up of what he can never have is overcome by _he's right here, I want him, I'm taking him._

(Thing is, even if he doesn't _take_ , he's already addicted.)

To the fingertips pressing into his skin and making every cell in his body ask for _more, more, more._

_(God, these hands, these fingers. I need to feel them everywhere.)_

To the messy, heated, intense exchange of tongues licking and sliding and wanting.

To the taste of dark chocolate and coffee; the sound of heavy breathing during the one-point-five seconds they part for air; the satisfaction from all of those grunts and groans he can draw out of Iwaizumi simply by whispering "Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan."

(He thinks he heard a "Fuck, Tooru" from Iwaizumi at some point, or maybe he just made that up, but who cares because _holy everything that's hot, say it right now._ )

Iwaizumi doesn't take everything he wants, not today, not when Oikawa has a headache and probably didn't eat breakfast or lunch. But he thinks about clothes discarded on the bedroom floor, the friction and sensation of bodies pressed together, arms around waists and legs tangled together seeking more heat and more _everything_.

( _Next time, not right now, keep your shit together._ )

He settles for more kissing. Running his thumb along Oikawa's jawline from back to front, tipping his chin up to expose his throat, scraping his teeth over sensitive skin.

"Do you care if—" he licks the same spot, gives it a quick kiss. "If other people see... ?"

(He lets go of Oikawa's chin and, for the very first time, allows a single selfish thought escape his mental filter: _Tell me you don't care, tell me you want everyone to see and know that you're finally, finally mine._ )

With zero hesitation, Oikawa tilts his head back to expose pale, smooth skin. "Do your worst," he breathes.

It's a challenge, but it's also submission of his own accord. In other words, it's an invitation Iwaizumi can't refuse.

He kisses and sucks and bites, noting what makes Oikawa gasp and what makes him whine, what makes his muscles tense in anticipation, what forces him to start taking long, deliberate breaths to calm himself down. He drags his palm down Oikawa's chest, so, so,  _so_ slowly—to tease him, to make him wonder where that hand will stop.

Iwaizumi pauses for just a moment to speak softly, gently into Oikawa's ear. "I wasn't gonna ever say it again, but you really do look perfect  _all the damn time."_

"Sh, shut up!" Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut and bites his bottom lip before releasing it into a pout; arches his back for more contact but turns his head away to hide a pretty pink dusted across his nose and cheeks; tries and fails to suppress a "please...", an "ahh, Iwa-chan."

A shy and touch-starved Oikawa is  _not_ what Iwaizumi expected. Watching and hearing this almost destroys his patience— _nexttimenexttime not now next time, save it all for next time._

And so he puts a stop to this for now, sitting back on his knees before he loses his mind. Besides, there's something else he needs to do—well, say.

"Hey, um," he begins.

When Iwaizumi remains silent after that, Oikawa sits up and frowns. "Yeah? You okay?" he asks.

Iwaizumi flushes bright red. "I, um. I really... ah, shit. It's too embarrassing to say when we're..."

Words fail him, so he cups Oikawa's cheek and leans in.

It's a calm and unhurried kiss, yet there's a hint of desperation from Iwaizumi as he thinks,  _Does he know, does he understand what this means, I need him to know right now._ His anxiety spikes when Oikawa pulls away, but that vanishes into thin air when each of his hands receive a gentle kiss near the fingertips. Then his forehead, his nose, and his lips one more time. 

With the brightest and sunniest of smiles, Oikawa says, "I love you too."

 

* * *

 

Only now does Oikawa truly understand that you can kiss _and_ be kissed, satisfy yourself _and_ someone else at the same time, take _and_ let go all at once. All of this, with a single person. It makes him wonder why he ever settled for less, why he thought it was okay to just close his eyes and pretend boredom and obligation and regret don't exist. 

He's well aware of the fact that this isn't like those one-night stands, or a friends with benefits type of arrangement, or a relationship he thinks he's supposed to be in because ' _it's just what people do_.'  

It's—

_I don't know what it is, because it's never been like this before._

_But I want it, I want him, all of him..._

_Will he still want me after I tell him everything?_

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says. "We need to tal—no, wait, that's not what I mean. I need to tell you some... things... about me. But first, will you play for me?"

Iwaizumi slides off the bed and offers Oikawa his hand. 

A year, no, maybe even a month ago, the gesture would've pissed Oikawa off.  _'What's THIS supposed to mean? Why would I need help? What's he trying to say about me?'_

He takes Iwaizumi's hand and gets to his feet. "Thanks," he says, and he doesn't let go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *passes out party hats*  
> *throws confetti*  
> *plays recording of Elise saying "fucking finally"*  
> _(:3」∠)_
> 
> this used to be chapter 20ish (?!) but I did a lot of defluffing since following the original plan means that this would *easily* hit at least 40 chapters. I'm pretty sure I'll write that deleted scenes fic I mentioned a while back anyway... I am far more attached to this AU than I ever expected to be haha. ~~so more main story here, more content later! that's the goal, at least.~~ Side stories happened first: [Orchestral excerpts. Next: a different type of confession from Oikawa, and then the first day of the final term at momogaoka (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ✧](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560352/chapters/36123381)


	19. Waltz

"All right, what kind of music are you in the mood for?" asks Iwaizumi.

Oikawa sits back on the sofa and tries to prepare himself for yet another confession, something he's never told anyone before. 

"Something cheerful," he replies. _A distraction._

Iwaizumi stretches his arms forward, cracks his knuckles. "All right, you probably know this one... I heard some violin guy practicing it a couple weeks ago."

A few notes as an introduction, then

 _One_ -two-three,  _one_ -two-three 

 _One_ -two-three,  _one_ -two-three 

(a waltz-like rhythm, a lilting melody)[1]

.

.

.

...

The two of them are in Venice, dining by candlelight with glasses of red wine on a restaurant patio in the early evening; looking down the canal and seeing a gondola glide by; listening to the stripe-shirted boatman sing a sentimental tune. The song is accompanied by a guitar, strumming a three-beat pattern while an accordion answers questions asked by the melody after every phrase.

 _Iwa-chan's so easy to read,_ Oikawa thinks. _Cute._

They decide to wander the streets after dinner, following the gondolier's voice down unfamiliar avenues bustling with nightlife and across bridges into neighborhoods they've yet to explore.

"You know this one?" Iwaizumi asks. His fingers are still dancing over the keyboard. "I don't even know what it's called, but I like it."

Oikawa smiles to himself. It's a beautiful city and a beautiful dream, but unfortunately it's not right. As usual, Iwaizumi's making most of it up, filling the room with nothing but sweetness and joy into a piece titled—

"—hey Iwa-chan, do you know what this piece is called?" Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi is too engrossed in his playing to answer.

 _Liebesleid_ , Oikawa thinks. _Love's sorrow_. But he stays silent, and Iwaizumi continues his rendition of a beautiful night under the stars in a city neither of them have ever been to before.

Oikawa crosses the living room to stand behind Iwaizumi at the piano and presses a kiss into his hair.

"I like Iwa-chan's version better," he whispers.

 

* * *

 

An eleven-year-old Tooru sat at the piano, looking disgruntled at the music in front of him. He wished he could've picked his own competition music—he was almost in _junior high_ —but his mom was home for once and he wasn't about to ruin everything by making a big deal out of it.

Still, one thing bothered him.

"Mom, why do I have to play something called 'love's sorrow' when there's this other piece called 'love's joy'?"[2] he asked, trying not to sound like he was complaining.

She sighed and looked out the window. Her hand hovered over his head, almost touching his hair, but she withdrew it after a beat and dug her fingernails into her palm instead. "Because that's how the world works, Tooru."

 

* * *

 

Those words float across Oikawa's consciousness, and he snaps to attention. Against his will, he remembers his mission and pulls away from Iwaizumi.

(Because it's not all beautiful starry skies and endless perfect evenings.)

_Because I did it to her and I'll do it to Iwa-chan, too._

_Because that's how the world works._

"Hey Iwa-chan," Oikawa begins, "I need to tell you something."

The looming threat of that unknown 'something' makes Iwaizumi stop playing.

"Listen, there's some stuff you should know about me. Just listen, okay?" Oikawa says. He takes a seat next to Iwaizumi on the piano bench.

With a deep breath, he launches into an account of his childhood in Tokyo, careful to leave out any mention of his parents' music careers to avoid questioning. He talks about his father's plane accident, moving to Paris and meeting Tanya and Kuroki, his mother's long absences, and That Night leading to his return to Japan. It takes at least twenty minutes from start to finish.

Iwaizumi is dumbfounded when Oikawa finishes. "I—don—wow. Um, why are you telling me all of this? Not that, I mean, I'm glad you are, but—"

Oikawa takes a deep breath. _Here we go._ "I'm telling you because I made my mom into... that woman."

"What?" Iwaizumi's expression goes blank. "Oikawa, I don't—"

"And I don't want to do it to you."

"Okay, hang on a sec—"

"I promised, Iwa-chan. I  _promised_ I'd always be there for her, and I wasn't. I left her alone first. I hated the fact that she just gave up on piano once we got to Paris, how she would rather go wait tables at a cafe than do the work that Elise could find for her. I couldn't stand it any more, so I stayed late at school, left early in the morning, never stayed at home on weekends. _I left her first,_ I made that happen, _don't you get it?_ I made her into this awful person and I'll end up doing it to you, I mean, piano is the most important thing to me right now and I can't—"

The next thing Oikawa knew, the two of them were face-to-face, practically nose-to-nose.

"Iwa-chan, this is _not_ the time for kiss—"

"You idiot!" Iwaizumi roars. And then

_clunk_

.

.

.

"OW WHAT—"  
"Shut up, Oikawa—"  
"Why the hell did you just headbutt me!?"

"Because punching you would really hurt!" Iwaizumi shouts.

" _Oh my God_ that is not what I meant!" Oikawa says, voice shrill. "Why did you hit me!?"

Iwaizumi straightens up. "You were all 'I' this and 'I' that and _I_ got sick of it. You really think it's all on you? That she would do that just because you started spending less time with her? You think none of this would've happened if you stayed at home 24/7? I thought you were supposed to be smart."

"But—"

"But nothing. Kids are supposed to grow up. I think she did a really shitty thing, but there's gotta be something else going on. And what was that, about doing it to me? Of course piano's more important. Piano is your life. And that competition's gonna decide what you do with the rest of it. You're _really_ a dumbass if you think I have a problem with that. So just do what you always do, all right?"

"Iwa-chan..."

"What?" Iwaizumi grunts. He rubs his own forehead and makes a face.

"Iwa-chan..." Oikawa's words turn watery, and he wipes his eyes with one sleeve. "Iwa-chan..."

Just like that, the air between them turns soft and soothing. Iwaizumi moves Oikawa's arm and starts kissing his tears away. "Do you want... you and me?" he asks, voice low but firm.

Oikawa nods with a sniffle.

"Then we'll be together," Iwaizumi concludes. "I won't leave until you want me to."

 _I don't, I won't, stay with me, I really do love you,_ Oikawa thinks. When he calms down and his breaths become slow and steady once again, he looks out his window and peeks up at the sky and smiles.

"Look, Iwa-chan. The stars are out tonight."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  1 [Liebesleid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJEkEL6Obzk) (Fritz Kreisler) [return to text]
> 
>   
> 2 Liebesleid is from a set of 3 pieces (Alt-Wiener Tanzweisen, or Old Viennese Dances) that include Liebesfreud, Liebesleid, and Schön Rosmarin: Love's Joy (what Tooru is referring to), Love's Sorrow, and Lovely Rosemary.[return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hello friends! First of all, the promised side-story fic is here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560352/chapters/36123381>. There's some post-chapter 18 drabble in there right now, plus a short rehearsal with Runa, Hanamaki, and Iwaizumi. Next up is will either be a "why do Oikawa and Kuroo 'hate' each other so much" fic or a "how did Oikawa and Hanamaki meet" one.
> 
> Back to this story: Apologies for such a short chapter. I'd been stuck on how to transition to the next part of the story for such. a. long. time. I can't even blame this months-long break on being busy or real life problems or whatnot, tbh I just couldn't get the words out of my head;;;; But here we are on the other side of Oikawa's confessions. We'll be rolling along with Yachi's recital next so please look forward to it!


	20. Entr'acte

"Sir, I think there's been a mistake," are the first words out of Iwaizumi's mouth on Monday morning at 8am, inside Ukai's office.

The professor doesn't speak. The expression on his face is stern—no, not just stern—severe. Unbending. Disapproving.

But Iwaizumi is prepared. He's heard all of Yachi and Oikawa's stories, the rumors from other piano students, but also the fact that the man does respond to reason and logic. So he extracts his schedule from a folder in his bag.

"I know your attendance requirements are strict," Iwaizumi says, "but I have to get all my student teaching done this term, and that means I'll miss at least three lessons." He points to several overlapping squares on a printed calendar. "Oik-I mean, I've heard that you only allow one absence."

"And you can't reschedule," Ukai says.

"It'd be inconvenient for the schools I'm supposed to go to..." Iwaizumi trails off. "Besides, I don't think you want me in your studio."

"And why is that?" Ukai asks.

"Well, I'm not like Yachi Hitoka. Or Oikawa Tooru. I'm just an ed major, you know?"

Something on Ukai's face hints at a, _No, I don't know_ , but the man remains silent.

"So I think this is just a big misunderstanding. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"'Misunderstanding' and 'waste' sound 'bout right," Ukai says. "You can go. I'll talk to Takeda, straighten things out."

 

* * *

 

The day is just getting started, but with a full schedule of third-term classes and her recital in _two days_ (!), Yachi already needs a coffee refill.

And then she sees Iwaizumi and almost drops her books.

"Iwaizumi-senpai!"

Iwaizumi looks up. "... Yachi-san? Finally, someone's here. Have you seen Oikawa?"

"What are you doing here?!" she asks, sounding like something terrible's happened. "Don't you have your first lesson with Ukai-san right now?"

"Oh, that." Iwaizumi says easily. "I just talked to him. It was all some kind of misunderstanding."

"It... huh? But, the announcement, Ukai-san wouldn't..." Yachi can't seem to string enough words together for a full sentence.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. I mean, a guy like me. There's no way, right?" Iwaizumi chuckles.

Yachi says nothing.

"Anyway. Have you seen Oikawa?" Iwaizumi asks. "My phone's dead. Or... anybody? I thought we were all meeting up for breakfast."

"Oh! Oikawa-san's helping Mina-chan warm up for studio class," Yachi explains.

"What do you mean, 'warm up for studio class'? Why would Mina need to warm up?"

Yachi laughs. "She's playing today!"

For a moment, all Iwaizumi can do is cough. "S-she's doing what?" he finally manages to say. "Seriously? And on the first day of term?"

"So is Sunakawa-senpai," Yachi adds. "Everyone's been practicing super hard over break! Thanks to Oikawa-san and the competition, our studio—I mean, Takeda-sensei's studio, oops—is really popular now. Mina says that her classmates started asking her for all kinds of advice, and Suga-senpai's been swamped with new arrangement requests. Oh, and I heard some of the first years even signed up for flex recitals. I'm so happy for everyone!"

Iwaizumi whistles. "Wow. I had no idea."

"Shoot. I should get back to practicing," says Yachi. "It was good seeing you!"

"Yeah, you too," Iwaizumi replies. He watches Yachi rush out of the cafe, shrugs, and flips idly through his history textbook.

 

* * *

 

"You've been awfully quiet, Yachi-san," Oikawa says that evening. It's the end of Yachi's dress rehearsal, almost exactly 48 hours before her recital.

"It's... I'm fine! Totally!" Yachi squeaks. "Just something totally silly. Totally."

Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

Yachi sighs, unable to hold it in any longer. "This is the most I've prepared for anything, ever, and I'm still... oh, no, it's so dumb..."

" _Yachi._ " 

"Eeek!"

"Ah, sorry, Yachi-san," Oikawa shakes his head. "I didn't mean—"

Yachi shakes her head twice as fast. "Oh no! It's fine. Just Yachi, really.  _I'm_ sorry for making such a big deal about nothing. It's just such a tiny, puny problem compared to what you have to go through every time you perform."

"Yachi!" Oikawa laughs a little, but he straightens himself back up with a serious expression. "Please, trust me on this. You have to talk these types of things out, or it's going to show when you perform."

Yachi looks down and taps the tips of her index fingers together. "I'm... really nervous about my recital."

After a long beat of silence, Oikawa blinks. "That's it? What's dumb about that? I get nervous all the time."

"You... do? But, you're, you're basically a professional, and—"

"And a single bad review can ruin my career before it even starts. Of course performing makes me nervous."

"Then..." Yachi hesitates. But she steels her nerves, and asks, "Then, how do you deal with it?"

"Well, isn't it exciting, too? There are always going to be people who want to put you down. But you get to beat them at their own game. Give them such a brilliant performance that even the haters can't say a word. Not bad, right?"

"But... I can't do that... I'm just me..."

"Yachi, why do you play piano?"

"Huh?" The question seems to shake Yachi out of whatever spiral she was falling into. "Um... I don't really have a very good reason. I just, I love playing."

"So play, as a hobby. Why choose this school? Why perform?"

"Well, I used to play for my mom all the time—"

(A breath catches in Oikawa's throat, but Yachi doesn't seem to notice. She continues.)

"—My mom's the head of a big graphic design agency. It's a very stressful job, plus she takes care of me all by herself. But when I play for her, she always gets a look on her face, and when I see her like that I feel... useful. Like I can do this one little thing to help her get back on her feet."

"Then when I came here, it wasn't just my mom anymore. When I play for my roommate, she gets the same look, and so does Takeda-sensei, and I... It makes me happy. If someone like me, someone who's anxious and jumpy and worked up all the time, can make someone else feel like that. Like calm, and relaxed, and peaceful? It seems like a miracle, to me, or an accident... a fluke. But if it's really true..."

Oikawa places a hand on her head, and she falls silent. 

"I'm just like you," he says with a smile. "Playing for my m—my parents, long ago; for Makki, who brought me back to piano when I quit; for you and Iwa-chan, who helped me get my act together before the competition. I'm happy when Makki and I win a competition together. When something about the music you and I make means that you're willing to walk out in front of thousands of people at Towa Hall with me. When Iwa-chan looks like he's finally getting a good night's sleep when he listens to me practice... hah, wonder what that says about my playing..."

"The point is, when I get nervous?" He leans down so that the two of them stand eye-to-eye. "All I need to do is to think of you guys, and how you believe in me and my music. No one else—nothing else matters. Give it a shot, all right?"

Yachi nods.

"Oh, and for what it's worth," Oikawa adds, as he gathers his things and walks out the door, "I believe in you. Not some perfect, flawless version of you, but  _you_ , Yachi Hitoka. Remember that."

Yachi stares as the door glides smoothly shut behind him. She doesn't say a word. 

(She doesn't think she can.)

 


	21. Recital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity."—Glenn Gould, pianist

_**Undergraduate Piano Division Recital** _

**Yachi Hitoka, piano  
** January 9, 20XX

 **Partita no. 1 in Bb major, BWV 825** , J. S. Bach[1]  
_I. Praeludium_  
_II. Allemande_  
_III. Corrente_  
_IV. Sarabande_  
_V. Menuet I & II_  
_VI. Gigue_

 **Concerto no. 1 in d minor, BWV 1052** , J. S. Bach[2]  
_I. Allegro_  
_II. Adagio_  
_III. Allegro_

 

There will be no intermission during this performance.

 

* * *

 

The lights go down, and the hall is enveloped in a hushed silence—only the _click-tap, click-tap, click-tap_ of high heels against hardwood floor can be heard. Yachi walks on stage, in a creamy yellow dress with a high-necked, sleeveless bodice embroidered with a subtle pattern atop a floor-length, tiered, ruffled skirt.

She sits alone, just her and the piano, for the performance of Bach's first partita. With her eyes closed and head lowered, she murmurs to herself.

"Becoming Shimizu-senpai's roommate. Telling Mom I wanted to come to Momogaoka. Being friends with Iwaizumi-senpai and Mina-chan. Playing for Oikawa-senpai. This recital—"

(Every time something great has happened—and _will_ happen, she's sure of it, thanks to her friends—because she stopped thinking and just _jumped_.)

 

* * *

 

The very first notes of the recital are delicate and graceful. A solo theme dances through the air; as those in the audience watch and listen, they sink back into their seats with contented sighs. New voices join in, creating a complex texture, but Yachi gently allows them to sing their own songs without muddying the sound. This is their first impression of Yachi Hitoka: sweet, caring, sincere.

But then comes the _allemande_. A fast, constant, relentless undercurrent of chattering notes seem to overwhelm everything else. In the midst of all the noise sits the pianist that seeks to tame the onslaught of sound all around it. The struggle continues in the _corrente_ —notes flying all around, endlessly, at all times, but Yachi fights the chaos and divides them into melody and harmony for the listeners to understand and enjoy.

A blissful respite emerges from the torrent in the slow, stately _sarabande_ : a rare moment of introspection rarely found in Yachi's mind. It's one of those moments when you forget you're on stage and you play only for yourself. The purest, truest kind of music there is.

When the _menuets_ come around, voices and chords and ornaments are pulled into place by a steady beat that's totally in control. It's a good feeling, like sorting your markers by color or having every single book in exactly the right place on the bookshelf.

Yet in the end, the rush is back. It returns in the gigue, a display of musical acrobatics with hands flying over and under each other to keep up with a dizzying array of notes. Only with the strength and endurance Yachi built up while working with Oikawa can she handle this final movement of the partita. The effect of antiphony between the voices is reminiscent of a pointillist painting, rather a piece of classical music—little dots of sound everywhere to make up a cohesive whole. Voices high and low, chattering and nagging, all carefully organized in harmony by Yachi's hand, that make up the beautiful, lively portrait reverberating through the recital hall. 

 

* * *

 

As the audience applauds for this first piece, Oikawa hops out of his seat and steps into the aisle. 

"Hey! Where are you going?" Mina asks.

"Don't tell me you're leaving," says Sugawara. 

Oikawa simply waves and leaves the recital hall. 

Suddenly, the hall is filled with soft gasps and whispered questions. First, two students bring music stands and chairs on stage. Then, nine musicians dressed in suits and black bowties arrive on stage. They take their places behind the piano, tune their instruments, play a few warmup notes. Most of the audience immediately recognizes some of _the_ top players at school in this group: Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma, Hanamaki Takahiro, Konoha Akinori. 

But the real commotion begins when Yachi walks on stage, followed by _Oikawa_ with conductor's baton in hand. 

"What??"  
"Oikawa Tooru can conduct? I thought he was a piano student?"  
"How the heck did she get literally _all_ the best players at school?"

Sugawara elbows Iwaizumi. "Of _course_ Oikawa would pull something flashy like this. Did you know about it?"

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and shakes his head no.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa looks at each member of his orchestra, catching their eyes with a grin. Then, he winks at Yachi. 

"Ready?"

She bites her lip, hesitates—

 _Kick it like you mean it,_ she thinks.

—then nods firmly. 

Oikawa tilts his baton up as a signal, takes a sharp inhale, and with a forceful downbeat the entire group begins the concerto in perfect unison.

...

For the next 20 minutes, there is only Bach. Pianist and orchestra alike are lost in the intensity and drive of the first movement, the ethereal melancholy of the second, and the quiet dignity of the third. The sheer expressiveness of the music is all that is needed for the performance.

...

After the final note, Yachi pulls her hands away from the piano slowly, carefully, afraid of disturbing the remnants of Bach still floating like dust motes in sunlight. She turns, looks out at the darkness and blinding stage lights above, and panics in the silence. Awful, dreadful silence. Her hands sweat. She tries not to tug at her dress, wills her legs to push her to her feet and face the audience and she's _deafened_ by the  _roar_ of applause that greets her as she bows. 

Above all the clapping and cheering, Yachi hears a sharp voice, a woman's: "What are _you_ looking at?" the voice snaps. "That's _my_ daughter and I can cry if I want to! Now give me a tissue!"

(Yachi smiles for the first time today.) 

 

* * *

 

Though the reception area is filled with people, and there was plenty of delicious food and drink, Yachi can't help but feel a little sad that her mom had to leave for work and that Oikawa left to take the fellowship exam. But her thoughts are interrupted by an, "Ah, there you are!" 

Irihata hands Yachi a large white box. "I need to get going, but superb performance today, Yachi-san. Hiroko sends her regards."

"Irihata-san, you came! Thank you so much." She sets the box down and waves goodbye before opening it. 

Inside the box is a large, single-tiered cake with white icing. It's partly covered in delicate little yellow sugar flowers that cascade down one side.

There's also a note, which reads:

> Bet you thought I forgot~ 
> 
> Nice job today. I can tell you did your best out there, and (thanks to me, of course) your best is pretty damn good. 
> 
> Hope you like lemon chiffon.
> 
> Oikawa
> 
> PS don't let Iwa-chan eat the whole thing.

Someone taps Yachi on the shoulder.

"Shimizu-senpai!" Yachi squeaks. She throws herself at her roommate with a _fwump_.

But when she hears a soft "oof" from Shimizu, a torrent of words fall out of her mouth.

"OH NO I'm so sososo sorry that was SO inappropriate I didn't mean to do that at all really I've never thought about it or anything really ever I don't know what I was thinking I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm—"

She stops when she tries to take a step back, but can't.

Shimizu holds her close. "You did a great job today, Hitoka-chan."

Yachi's face burns bright red. "No, I, really, um—"

"Hitoka-chan!" Shimizu laughs. "It's okay if you just say 'thank you.'"

"T-thanks, Shimizu-senpai," Yachi says, sounding more than a little embarrassed.

"It's a beautiful cake," Shimizu remarks, letting Yachi go and looking into the box. "Is it a gift from that man just now? A relative of yours?"

Yachi's face brightens at the question.

"That was Oikawa-senpai's lawyer!" she chirps happily.

"His... what?" Shimizu says, stunned. 

In a single breath, fueled by equal parts exhaustion and adrenaline, Yachi makes her best effort at explaining the situation. "When Takeda-sensei said Oikawa-senpai didn't have an accompanist, Oikawa-senpai was going to give me a piano present for when I wasn't his accompanist which _of course_ I couldn't accept so he asked what I wanted and I said cake and Bach and so he agreed to help me recital and I think he really patched things up with Iwaizumi-senpai and now he baked a cake!"

"... He... what?"

"He really shouldn't have, since I threw rice balls and milk bread at him, but oh, he's so good at cooking and it's such a lovely cake, don't you think?"

Shimizu laughs. "I'm glad you two are friends."

 

* * *

 

"So? So? What d'you guys think? Didn't Yacchan look so pretty up there?" Mina asks, stuffing half a cookie into her mouth.

"She did, but why do _you_ look so proud?" Sunakawa replies. 

"Oikawa's not here, so I'll say it: are you her mom?" Sugawara adds, snickering.

"Hmph!" Mina crosses her arms and pouts. " _I_ picked out that dress, because Yacchan's hopeless about fashion and stuff like that."

Sugawara shrugs. "Maybe I'll let you dress me, too." 

"Uh, boring." Mina sticks her tongue out. "Boys wear tuxes. Black and white. The end. But  _I_ could use a new dress..."

Sunakawa sighs and puts his hood up.

 

* * *

 

Yachi's two teachers, past and present, stand off to one side with plates of meat and cheese in hand.

"'specially since he didn't pick anything from this list," Ukai had just said. He taps on his phone a few times and shows it to Takeda.

"French Suite, Well-Tempered Clavier... it's a very nice list. Many of these would suit Yachi-san quite nicely," Takeda observes.

"The kid played these for his audition here. Was tryin' to save the him some time, have him work on pieces he already knows. Instead he gets Pipsqueak to pick brand new music _and_  he conducts an orchestra."

The younger teacher smiles. "Oikawa-kun certainly has his own way of doing things."

 

* * *

 

"So Oikawa's off taking that test, huh. You guys think he'll do well?" Sugawara asks. 

"Prob'ly," says Hanamaki, mouth full of cocktail shrimp.

"It's pretty obvious he'll ace it, right?" says Iwaizumi. "He's the best, so he's gonna win the fellowship and everything."

Everyone stares at him. 

Sugawara rolls his eyes. "Remind me, how are you guys  _not_ together yet? How dense can Oikawa get?"

"Uh, actu—"

"No, it's a good thing, right?" Hanamaki points out. "I mean, the guy's going off to Europe for _at least_ two years. Better not to get involved." He gives Iwaizumi a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"What, no!!" Mina exclaims. "They can be together and go together!"

Hanamaki frowns. "Yeah, okay, it's a nice idea, but that fellowship's not built for two. Only Oikawa's gonna get the funding and support he needs. It's gotta be rough for someone without that. Think about it. Having to learn a new language  _and_ find a decent job in a brand new  _continent_ , let alone a new country."

Mina raises her voice, despite Sunakawa's quiet attempts at calming her down. "How can you be so...  _unromantic!_ What would Runa-chan say?"

"Hey, if I'm getting an orchestra job, I'm taking it," Hanamaki replies. "Runa knows that. I mean, I'm gonna audition in Tokyo, but I'll go _anywhere in the world_  if it means I get to play in an orchestra full time. Runa has the same goal herself. Hell, ask anyone who played just now and they'll say the same thing. We're all on the same page."

"So Runa and I'll figure it out when it comes up, but... I'm not gonna lie, it'll be tough. Easier to stay friends if you can. Right, Iwaizumi?"

"Huh? Oh. Right, yeah. Of course."

"Good man. Now, who wants more shrimp?"

 

* * *

  

"It's like they live in a different world, isn't it?"

Iwaizumi looks up from his cup of water. A young woman with dark hair and glasses smiles at him, the two of them now standing just outside the circle made by their collective friends. "Europe," she continues. "Can you imagine?"

"Not really," Iwaizumi admits.

The woman nods.

"So uh, are you one of Yachi-san's friends?" Iwaizumi asks.

"Yes. I'm Shimizu, Hitoka-chan's roommate. She played beautifully, didn't she?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"..."

"..."

"... I'm sorry," Shimizu says shyly. "Music is a bit out of my league, and I never really know what to say. Sometimes I really do feel like Hitoka-chan lives in a different world, and no matter what I do, or how much I want to help, I'll always be on the outside. I live with her, and even then she feels so far away sometimes..."

Iwaizumi stares into his cup of water.

 _This is that roommate Yachi-san always talks_ _about_ , he thinks. _Even she feels like this?_ _No matter what I do, or how much I want to help him, will I always..._

"Ah, sorry again." Shimizu laughs. "I'm sure you don't want to hear a random stranger go on and on."

"No, it's okay. I know the feeling."

(Iwaizumi thinks of Hanamaki and Oikawa's excitement over music festivals overseas, the life Oikawa has had until now, and about the great unknown that is the world beyond Japan.)

"I never even dreamed of leaving the country, and to... to people like _them,_ it's totally normal," Iwaizumi says.

After a long pause, he adds, "Hey, um, I gotta get going. Nice talking to you."

As he leaves, he turns to take one more look at the lively, bustling reception before heading out the door.

 

* * *

 

Yachi greets Shimizu with a bright smile when she rejoins her roommate. "Oh, I'm so happy you met Iwaizumi-senpai!"

"Huh? I don't think so?" Shimizu says, brows furrowing.

"You were just talking to him!" Yachi tilts her head. "He just left, I saw him."

"Just now? The man with dark, spiky hair? This tall?" She holds her hand high above her head. "That's your friend who's an amazing pianist?"

Yachi beams.

Shimizu, on the other hand, frowns. "But then, why would he say..."

"Hmm?" Yachi tilts her head.

"Oh, um," Shimizu says, "I just wonder... no, never mind, it's nothing."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Partita no. 1 in Bb major, BWV 825](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pj5r8anMdc) (Johann Sebastian Bach) A partita is a set of Renaissance or Baroque-era dance-inspired music; the _allemande_ , _corrente_ , etc. are all names of dances from Germany, Italy, or Spain.[return to text]
> 
> 2 [Concerto no. 1 in d minor, BWV 1052](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osg_WmeLxQk) (Johann Sebastian Bach) [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Picking the music for this recital was very difficult! [Bach's fifth French Suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_U0lm6HZMkhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_U0lm6HZMk) didn't make it onto the program, but it definitely deserves honorable mention.
> 
> For a visual on Yachi's dress, see [Mako from Welcome to the Ballroom](https://www.zerochan.net/2226857).
> 
> Don't be too hard on Makki. He means well! 
> 
> At this point, I think I'd rather do short but frequent chapters than long chapters with (unintentional but inevitable) giant breaks in between. So new goal: have two more chapters done in two weeks. Something big's gonna happen next chapter!
> 
> As always, thank you guys for each and every one of your comments <3 they make writing feel all the more worthwhile.
> 
> * * *
> 
> EXTRA
> 
> As I mentioned several chapters ago, there are bits and pieces of real musicians in Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Yachi to help fill in the blanks left by Haikyuu and Nodame canon. Yachi's real-life counterpart is pianist Glenn Gould.
> 
> Glenn Gould was a pianist perhaps best known for his interpretations of Bach's music. This is why Yachi ended up with an all-Bach recital. Here are a few quotes about him; I think you'll be able to see the similarities with Yachi's canon personality.
>
>> [He wore] not only overcoats but gloves in August, packed dozens of pills and lived, as he put it, in 'horror of catching colds.'
>
>> ... a sufferer from extreme stage fright...
>
>> I learned that he displayed paranoia, imagining that someone was spying on him.
>
>> His inhibitions about touching or being touched in later years limited human contact, which is conducted largely by telephone.
> 
> And lastly, but perhaps most importantly:
>
>> He was a loner, certainly, but Gould was also one of the funniest and most playful musicians there has ever been, he was an irrepressible and essential thinker on music, and his records and radio documentaries are fuelled by a ceaseless curiosity about the world and music's place in it.


	22. Liebesleid (love's sorrow)

Rachmaninoff. Beethoven. Rachmaninoff. Beethoven.

Iwaizumi sits alone in a practice room, playing those concertos over and over again. It's late. His phone is dead. He doesn't know what time it is, and he's not sure he cares.

_He'll be in Europe once we graduate. That's two months away._

_Only two months until..._

"That's a very interesting Rachmaninoff."

These words from an unknown voice make Iwaizumi jump and bang his knees on the bottom of the piano. "OW F—gah, I mean, I'm, sorry?"

Iwaizumi is pretty sure this is the type of person you're just supposed to apologize to. The stranger is a woman in maybe her late 30s or early 40s, with sleek auburn hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and an outfit that screams luxury: impeccably tailored wool coat, black leather gloves, and designer shoes that probably cost more than what most people make in a day. Her words were a simple statement, maybe even a compliment, but somehow her voice made it sound like a condescending review.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to startle you," she replies.

"No, you didn't, I—"

"But I did knock," she adds, in a way that makes her sound not sorry at all.

Iwaizumi treads carefully. "Can... I help you?"

She stares (glares?) at him.

He keeps talking to fill the silence. "Are you, um, a new teacher? You kinda look familiar, but I don't think we've met or anything—"

"Say that again," she commands. The look on her face is intense.

"Oh sh—oot. Did we meet?" Iwaizumi looks away, tries to remember but comes up with nothing—"Oh man, I'm usually really good at remembering stuff, this—"

She squats down next to his bench and shakes him by the shoulders. "Oh. My. God. You don't know who I am." And then she starts laughing. "And you're from Miyagi!"

Iwaizumi is relieved that she isn't mad, but he's mostly just very, very confused.

"Oh my Godddd _fiiiiinally_." She plops back, lands on her butt, stretches her legs out in a V. With a toothy grin, she says, "What's a nice hometown boy doin' in the city, huh?"

He nearly falls off his bench. "That dialect—your... accent?!"

She winces a little bit and scratches her head. Bits of hair escape from her ponytail and flip up in different directions. "'m real sorry 'bout that whole, y'know, high-'n'-mighty thing. My publicist makes me, he's so stuuuu—oh, never mind. Don' even wanna think 'bout that guy."

"Um, I didn't think I had an accent anymore?" (But he's slipping back into it now, like he always does when he goes home.)

"Can barely hear it. But you're like me, aren't ya. Everyone at school made fun of me! So I got real good at hiding it. You did too, right?"

Iwaizumi relaxes, even laughs a little. "Yeah, did that _real_ fast back when I moved t' the city. Man, you've got good ears, huh."

"Eh, guess so. But so do you! I could hear ya listening to the piano. Adjusting your sound. Not that many people can do that, y'know."

Iwaizumi scratches his head. "Oh. Thanks, that's a super nice thing to say—hang on, do you play piano too? You knew that Rachmaninoff and everything." He puts more of the pieces together, then—"do you play, like, as a job? Is that why you have a publicist?"

"... Well, I s'pose you can say it pays the rent, yeah."

"Then can I ask you something? If y'gotta leave, though..."

"Nah, go for it. That crappy old geezer can wait."

Iwaizumi is taken aback. _That sounds familiar..._

"Crappy old... you mean Ukai-san."

She pouts and rolls her eyes. "He always called me 'little girl' and 'idiot' and whatever, so I don't ever use his name."

Something about this woman was bothering him—no, not  _bothering_ , but there's...

Then the question that's been eating at him all night, ever since Yachi's recital reception, pushes everything else out of his mind.

He takes a deep breath, tries to sound casual, asks, "So I was wondering, d'you have to go to Europe to make it? Like, if you wanna play piano for a living."

"Well, yeah," she says, matter-of-factly. "They've got _everythin'_ over there. Better teachers, nicer schools, bigger orchestras, more fancy people who go to concerts. Ya thinkin' of headin' there?"

"Not really... well, sorta... I don't know. I mean, I can't, right, even if I want to."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'm me, I guess. I spent all my life thinkin' of bein' a teacher, so..."

"Huh? You can teach wherever, can't ya? So if y'wanna go, just go."

"It's not that easy..." Iwaizumi mumbles.

"What else is goin' on?" the woman asks. 

"Well, it's real expensive, right?"

"Yeah, that part stinks. But hey, why not be a teacher here for a year or two and go after savin' up?"

Iwaizumi looks away.

The woman scoots closer to the piano bench where Iwaizumi is sitting. She reaches up and waves her hand in front of his face. "Hello? Still with me?"

"... okay, I guess money isn't the biggest problem. I just, ah, damn it!" Iwaizumi clutches at his hair. "I would hate, I can't go and be dead weight for him!"

"Him?"

They look at each other. Iwaizumi's eyes go wide.

"A friend-him! Just someone I, um, know from school. Just. Friends."

The woman bursts into laughter. "Oh my God you're such a liar! Look at ya! Y'really are a country boy, huh. Can't lie t'save your life. So ya got yourself a boyfriend, huh."

"... you're... okay... with...?"

"Eh? Why wouldn't I be?"

Iwaizumi shrugs. "Dunno 'bout your family, but mine, hell, _everyone_ in the neighborhood thinks it's 'just somethin' kids go through these days.'"

"Oh. Right." The woman sighs. "Yeah, not the most open-minded place in the world. So now ya really have to go! Do France or Germany or England, y'all can get married properly, maybe adopt some kids, make 'em into lil' music nerds—"

"Um... please stop."

The woman laughs, then taps her finger to her lips a few times in thought. "Ehh, now, maybe y'shouldn't marry a guy who says you're 'dead weight'."

"Well, he hasn't said that... but I _know_ I am." Iwaizumi sighs. "We're just in two totally different worlds. I dunno that much about him, to be honest, but I know he's been playing piano since forever, and he's got relatives who, like, collect pianos. He's already an amazing pianist, I mean, he's won competitions and played with orchestras and everything. He'll be the best once he gets to Europe. My family owns a hardware store in the middle of nowhere. Other'n this one summer when I was a kid, I never even had proper lessons 'til I got here. Maybe if I grew up with him in his world, or he grew up like me in mine... but it's too late for that."

He pauses. That was more than he's said all day.  _Why is it so easy to talk to her?_

She scoffs with an extremely unladylike snort. "Oh, quit whinin'. Your guy has relatives who own a couple pianos? Try bein' married to a guy who goes to _Vienna_ on a business trip and comes back with a _harpsichord_ as a _souvenir_ for our kid. You betcha horses I hid my accent from my two snobby boys.  _Annnd_  my parents are _oyster_ _farmers_." She sticks her tongue out at him.

Iwaizumi blinks. "Did you seriously just...? Okay, okay, you win. Your husband sounds pretty, um, intense."

A dreamy, faraway look and a soft smile take over the woman's expression. "He was my senpai at this school. Ya remind me a bit of him, actually, all mean-lookin' but a big ol' softie inside. Yep. Definitely."

"... thank you?"

"But y'sound like me. Not the accent, I mean... lemme tell ya this story, all right? It's about a gal who had everything by the time she turned 20: a husband, a beautiful baby boy, and a debut with the Rising Star."

"You mean that famous orchestra that plays at our school."

"That's the one. She and her husband were gonna be the next 'golden pair,' a concert pianist and an amazin' conductor, tourin' all over the world together. So when they got out of school, he got a job in Paris with a lil' up-and-comin' orchestra. Wasn't much, but it was their first step towards that dream."

"But she. She wasn't good enough. She couldn't get another gig with a real orchestra after finishing school, and if she couldn't even do that then how could she play with her husband? So she tried and tried until she finally got a second debut a few years later."

"So she _was_ good enough," Iwaizumi says. "She even proved it."

"Mm, but this story doesn't end so nice."

"Why not?"

"'Cause for all those years, her husband split his time between Paris and Tokyo, flyin' back and forth every other week, waitin' for her to move to Paris with him. One day, just before they were gettin' ready to move, her husband was flyin' back to Tokyo and there was... an accident. He didn't make it."

"Oh man. I'm sorry."

"Mm, it's..." She lowers her eyes for a moment. "It's all in the past now. But here's the point of the story: he wouldn't've been doin' all that flyin' around if she'd just gone with him to Paris, see. So go with him. If you wanna go with this boy, then just go. Who cares about bein' dead weight? Better'n one of ya bein' dead."

Iwaizumi flinches at the statement. "I understand what you're sayin', but if I can somehow, no, but, arrrgh, how do I say this... I want...  _need_ to be good enough to keep up with him. To be with him, live in his world."

"An' what world is that?" the woman asks.

"Yours," says Iwaizumi. "A performer's."

She blinks at him. "Y'don't wanna be a schoolteacher?"

Iwaizumi shrugs. "It's the only thing I'm any good at, I've known that all my life. But now... I wanna stand on that stage like him. With him."

"... But y'can't," the woman says softly. "Not with that Rachmaninoff y'played earlier. Not as you are."

"Why not?!" Iwaizumi says roughly, in a flash of anger that surprises them both.

He immediately backs down. "I mean, I figured, but I thought maybe..."

"Play somethin' else. Somethin' ya really like."

With his thoughts filled with Oikawa, Iwaizumi plays Beethoven's fifth piano concerto.

...

He can remember every note from Towa Hall, from the grand orchestra at Yachi's command to the sparkling cadenzas under Oikawa's fingers. The tempo rises and falls with his heartbeat, excitement building and receding; the orchestra's and soloist's notes blending together and branching away.

He holds back a smile when he almost slips into a Mozart sonata again, like he had while playing the concerto with Oikawa at school. He thinks of beaches, of volleyball courts, of fighting dragons, of Oikawa. 

He thought he was satisfied with having memories of the day they played Beethoven together.  _But that's not enough anymore. Not when he's so close, but about to be so far away._

... 

The woman is silent for a long, long time.

"Listen," she says at last. "Y'have to face the music head-on. Confront it. Struggle with it. Understand it. Only then can ya make it your own, stand on that stage as a real pianist."

"I... don't get it."

"Lemme play somethin'. Here, look at the music." She hands a score to Iwaizumi, nudges him off the piano bench, and takes a seat.

...

Iwaizumi is startled when he realizes it's the same piece he'd played for Oikawa just a few nights ago. But her rendition[1] is nothing like his. No—it's nothing like anything he's heard before. It only takes a few phrases before he's overwhelmed by emotion: love, loss, regret, and the hope that a broken heart can be made whole once again.

It's the faintest memories of best friends joined at the hip, of a mother singing a lullaby, of two soulmates destined to be together, forever. It's the loss of all of those things: the jagged remains of a severed friendship, the silence of an empty crib, and the darkness of the world that tears the lovers apart.

But there's also the hope that comes from remembering days gone by and the love that maybe, just maybe, remains.

...

She follows every note, every instruction on the score.  _She can do all that_ and  _say all of this,_ Iwaizumi thinks, in awe of the power this woman wields with her music.

But the spell is broken when the woman winces and lifts her hands from the keyboard like it's on fire. She clutches her wrist and bites her lip.

"Whoa, hey, what's wrong?" Iwaizumi, unsure what to do, crouches down and puts a hand on her shoulder. At that distance, he sees two scars, one on each hand, that run perpendicular to the woman's wrists.

"My auntie had that same surgery," he says. "Sorry you have to go through that. I know it hurts pretty bad."

The woman turns pale. She scrambles to pull her gloves back on. 

"Please don't tell anyone," she says in a small voice.

"Um, okay. Dunno who I would tell anyway."

She lets out a long, slow breath. 

"Hey, um..." Iwaizumi begins.

"Hm?"

"How will I know?"

"Know what?"

"How will I know if I'm good enough? I'm not like him, with all his experience, or like you, playin' with pro orchestras when you're still in school."

"We're musicians. 'Good enough' doesn't exist."

"But..."

"But if y'really need to prove yourself, how about..." 

 

* * *

 

"Sir, please help me compete!" are the first words out of Iwaizumi's mouth on Friday morning at 8am, inside Ukai's office.

The professor, seated at his piano, doesn't speak. He continues to play something Iwaizumi doesn't recognize.

Iwaizumi continues, unfazed. "Takeda-sensei told me to—wait, no. I mean, I'm here because I want to be in a competition, and Takeda-sensei suggested I come talk to you."

Ukai stops playing and turns to face Iwaizumi. The expression on his face is stern—no, not just stern—severe. Unbending. Disapproving.

But Iwaizumi is prepared. He knows firsthand that the man does respond to reason and logic. So he extracts his schedule from a folder in his bag.

"Please help me prepare for one. I know your attendance requirements are strict," Iwaizumi says, "but is there any way I could have my lessons on different days of the week each week? I know it's not what you usually do, but..."

"Hah!" Ukai barks a laugh. "Finally got it, you knucklehead. Never said _I_ can't reschedule, did I? Still, the last competition this year is in six weeks. Six lessons won't cut it. So you'll be staying at my house every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for extra lessons, no exceptions. We start tonight. You can take a break on Mondays, but other than that I expect 8 to 10 hours of practice every day you're not with me. Got it?"

Iwaizumi nods.

"Take this to the main office. They'll do the rest." He hands Iwaizumi a piece of paper and waves him out the door. 

It's an official-looking form that's been completed in neat handwriting, signed with Wednesday's date:

**THE 20th ANNUAL MARADONA COMPETITION**

Competitor: Iwaizumi Hajime  
Instrument: piano  
School: Momogaoka Conservatory  
Sponsoring Faculty: Ukai Ikkei

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Liebesleid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sbAtt4w6ZU) (Fritz Kreisler-Sergei Rachmaninoff) [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Late Wednesday night._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Without knocking, she marches into Ukai's office with the MiyakiCon program in hand.
> 
> "This boy, Oikawa. Do you know him? He's not one of your students, but you must, at least, know something...?"
> 
> Ukai, seated at the piano, doesn't stop playing. "'Long time no see' to you, too. You're his mother, and you don't know?"
> 
> She drops the program and takes a step back. Her hands start shaking. "You know?"
> 
> "Hm. Whatever's going on between you two, I want no part of it."
> 
> "How... Did he say something about..."
> 
> "No. Figured it out 30 seconds into his audition for this school. Could've sworn it was you sitting there playing Mozart."
> 
> "You didn't take him in your studio?"
> 
> "I did, but he needed a break. Was getting too caught up in competition, and not the good kind."
> 
> "I know he's not one of yours any more, but could you... please... keep an eye on him?"
> 
> Ukai stops playing, closes the lid on his piano, and sighs. He turns to her with a level gaze. "What do you think I've been doing for the past four years?"
> 
> "... Oh. Right. Thank you..." 
> 
> "Hmph. You done here, little girl? I still have work to do."
> 
> "One more thing. I'm not really in a position to ask for favors, but there's someone else I want you to help."
> 
> "Who?"
> 
> "You'll know him when you hear him. Actually, I think you'll be seeing him real soon."


	23. Chopin

"Iwa-chan's _where_ doing _what??_ " Oikawa squawks, at his lesson late Friday afternoon.

"I believe you once described it as 'boot camp'?" Takeda replies. "Ukai-san's practice of taking students into his home to prepare for auditions, competitions, or major performances."

"Why?!" Oikawa starts pacing back and forth inside the small office."It's Iwa-chan. Why does he need the shitty old man's boot camp? He's not about to play a big concerto, or compete—"

Takeda scratches his head and looks away.

"No. Way." Oikawa says. "No. No no no. This can't be right. I won't believe it until I see it with my own two eyes."

 

* * *

 

"Come on, Knucklehead! At least make it through _three_ notes before you mess up," Ukai growls.

Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair. He throws a pencil at his music in frustration.

The teacher ignores this. " _Any dimwit_ should be able to—"

"I told you I was bad at sightreading!"

Ukai sighs.

"All right, you win," he says gruffly. "Play the Beethoven[1] instead, and we'll talk about the theory as we go."

"I just started that a few days ago with Takeda-sensei..."

"You can't play it after a few days?"

"... Of course I can." Iwaizumi straightens his back, takes a sharp breath in, and settles into the first, heavy chord on the exhale. He's squinting at the score.

It's _slow_. Painfully slow, to the point where notes barely connect with each other.

"Oi, stop. See that there?" Ukai points to the music, at the composer's instructions. " _Grave_  means serious in Italian. It doesn't mean that you're digging a grave. Start again."

Meanwhile, Oikawa is crouched by a window just outside Ukai's house, trying his best to listen in on the boot camp he himself was part of a couple years ago. He sneaks a peek inside and immediately falls back on his butt, heart pounding and wincing under the weight of the large backpack he's wearing. Silently, unwillingly, he adds "Iwa-chan wearing glasses" under "Iwa-chan smiling" on his mental list of things that will kill him before he turns 30.

His one saving grace is that Iwaizumi is really, really _bad_. By the fifth measure it's like he's not even trying to play with any sort of rhythm—just trudging from note to note.

"Oh my God," Oikawa says to himself.

"Ugggh," Iwaizumi groans. "Can I play the second movement?"[2]

After taking a moment to think, Ukai says, "Sure, why not. Can't be worst than this."

The movement opens with a gentle melody that sings above a steady, calm beat. Oikawa's always thought of it as a mother's lullaby. But right now...

_The sun is rising. Leaves sway gently under a soft breeze. The world is turning from monochrome to color, the deep indigo night giving way to warm orange and velvety pink; pastel blues tinting traces of clouds—_

"How in God's name..." Ukai murmurs to himself.

_And the colors intensify. They saturate the landscape, then grow brighter and brighter until everything glows like neon signs. The shapes shift, and—_

(Oikawa thinks of a tie-dyed shirt.)

"Whoa, whoa. Stop. Why did you play that part so loud? And fast?"

"It just seemed right."

"Play what's on the page, Knucklehead. Pick up with measure 17."

_—nge and velvety pink; pastel blues tinting traces of clouds floating low in the sky. A few droplets of rain start to fall; it turns into a light shower that_ _starts_

_and stops_

_and starts_

_and stops_

_and—_

"You're skipping the offbeats."

"Oh. Right."

_—a light shower that settles back into an even drizzle. The serenity of a sunrise born from a softly glowing sky, raindrops against your jacket, a bird trill here and there, and the sound of your heartbeat, the sound like the hooves of a galloping a horse with an accordion that serves as the soundtrack for a Beethoven-themed merry-go-round. Children shrieking with laughter ride the horses and dolphins and squirrels wearing powdered wigs—_

Ukai _glares_ at Iwaizumi.

"I don't remember the rest," Iwaizumi says.

"It _repeats_. Look at the damn music!"

"Huh. There's a repeat sign."

"Don't 'huh' me. Isn't there anything you can play right now? Anything in that brain of yours? Your fourth year with Takeda and _you haven't learned anything all the way through?_ " Ukai barks.

"Not memorized, it was never a big deal with Takeda-sensei..." Iwaizumi trails off. After a while, he says, "Well, I guess there's something I know. It's been, like, ten years. But I can play the whole thing."

"What is it? I'll get the sheet music."

Iwaizumi ignores Ukai. He takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, and begins.

It takes Oikawa a second—it sounds familiar... oh. He knows what this is: Chopin's first piano concerto.[3] Iwaizumi is playing the orchestral introduction that comes before the solo piano part.

"Play the _piano_ part, you—wait, you learned this when you were just a kid?" Ukai asks.

But Iwaizumi doesn't hear him; his eyes are squeezed shut and he's pulling Oikawa in.

...

It's a lengthy introduction, more than 3 minutes played while the soloist sits and waits.

_Everyone's making fun of him. He knows, he can hear them, but all he can do is sit inside and wait for his parents to come home. But that's okay. For now, he can play the piano. It's fun and he can make it sing and make cool sounds._

Finally, the orchestra retreats, leaving the strings to play a soft, questioning note.

_His parents wonder if he should take lessons. They send him to the local kindergarten teacher, who plays some piano. After only two weeks, she urges his parents to take him to a better teacher. A professional._

_..._

_So here he is, at a piano summer camp in Tokyo. The teacher is a short, older man with swept-back gray hair, sunken cheeks, and a permanent scowl. He paces around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. 'From now on, you're a_ real _pianist,' he announces._

The opening chords for the soloist are what those chords marked _Grave_ should have been. They're perfect, here—powerful, dignified, but also heavy with the weight of the world. The contrast with the falling trickle of thirds is nothing short of beautiful.

The introduction ends, and a mournful song begins.

_He's not alone any more, but why does it still feel that way? The other kids who take lessons from his teacher are all obsessed with piano, and with competitions. No one plays volleyball or video games or watches TV._

The music gives way to something more complex, cascades of notes and denser chords. The orchestra persists while the piano's notes grow and develop. Scales fall over and over, dynamics rise and fall between forte and piano, the two push each other harder and harder—

_He doesn't like the new teacher, because he shouts and smacks you with a ruler when you play a wrong note._

_Playing isn't fun any more. He hates feeling like this, betraying his friend and himself. He wants to stop. He tells them he wants to, but they all want him to keep going._

"Slow down," Oikawa whispers.

The piano plays a four-note motif, answered by the orchestra. They go back and forth, but the orchestral part is too loud, too fast, becoming the soloist while—

 _'Practice, damn it! Stop wasting my time._ Practice _, you hear me? Your parents told me about those crap grades of yours. This is all you're good for.'_

Oikawa flinches. _I don't understand. Are these Iwa-chan's feelings?_

But he knows that the music will relax soon, calm down and ease into the second theme.

Except, it doesn't.

"What—"

(Louder and louder and louder and fingers moving just as fast fastfaster)

_'Why can't they just let me play? What's wrong with playing what I like?!'_

It's ugly. It becomes a battlefield of sounds, clashing and _smashing_. The piano weakens, slows, tries to rise up again and charges headfirst into the orchestra—

" _Stop_."

Ukai lunges in. He seizes Iwaizumi's wrist with one hand and his shoulder with the other. They're both breathing hard—

"Stop," the professor says again. He's looking at the keyboard, not Iwaizumi.

"Sorry," Iwaizumi says, looking down, dark shadows falling over his eyes. "Got a little out of hand."

"That's it for today. Go study that Beethoven I just gave you."

"What? I can still play."

 _I... feel a little sick,_ Oikawa thinks. He sits down in the gravel again because he thinks his legs will give out.

Iwaizumi's playing took the Chopin and turned it into something Oikawa feels like he shouldn't've seen. On the other hand, when Iwaizumi played the Mozart all those months ago, he gave those sounds away freely like every note was a precious gift.  _What's going on?_

"Oikawa-kun? Is that you?"

_?!_

Oikawa turns towards the voice in small, abrupt increments. Being caught spying is bad enough, but of all people...

"M-Mariko-san. Hello..."

There stands Ukai Mariko, aged 72 but as energetic as a woman half her age. _She needs the energy_ , Oikawa always thought, _to handle being the shitty old man's wife._

"It _is_ you!" the older woman says happily. "Oh, it's been so long since you were last here. You get more and more handsome every time I see you. Come on, come inside! Ikkei is busy with a student, but if you don't mind waiting a bit, you might enjoy listening to him. This boy is a very, very interesting player! I haven't been this intrigued since you went through this boot camp. Oh, what a silly name. So rough."

She drags him to the front door with what can only be called brute force.

"No, please. I, um, only came to drop this off." Oikawa sets two large bundles on the bench just inside. "Err... I was cooking and I... made too much... oh, uh, here's some coffee for after dinner..." He hands her a large, warm carafe. 

"Oh my! You made all of this yourself? You must come eat with us. I insist."

"I, um, have to get going. But please, um, I hope you enjoy it. I mean, all of you. I hope _everybody_ enjoys it. So yeah... um... "

Oikawa does a jerky sort of bow and powerwalks all the way to his car parked three blocks away.

 

* * *

 

"The hell is all this?" Ukai says, when his wife sets the table with freshly baked bread, a hearty beef stew, and a salad she made to accompany the dinner. 

"Language, Ikkei," she replies. "It's from a very handsome young man I just met outside!"

"What?" the man exclaims.  
  
Iwaizumi slides the door open and sniffs a few times. He blinks at the sight before him.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mariko asks. "You look a little flushed."  
  
Iwaizumi's cheeks glow pink. "'m fine. Great, actually." Then to himself, he says, with a little laugh, "That idiot."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Piano Sonata no. 8, op. 13 in c minor, first movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79gzdskOGu4) (Ludwig van Beethoven) [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Piano Sonata no. 8, op. 13 in c minor, second movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGq3-Fi_zQY) (Ludwig van Beethoven)[return to text]
> 
> 3 [Piano concerto no. 1, op. 11 in e minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkrwU5Pd93c) (Frédéric Chopin) [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Whoo four chapters this month! I'm _back_ , y'all. It'll be the Maradona prelims and Miyaki finals before you know it. 
> 
> I firmly believe that in any version of iwaoi, Oikawa shows as much care and consideration towards Iwaizumi as Iwaizumi does for him. It's just that Oikawa tries to hide it* and his efforts end up being rather clumsy. So I really wanted to make that clear in this chapter.
> 
> *unless he is a dragon
> 
> In Nodame there is this whole deal about Chiaki not being able to get on an airplane, and for various reasons it makes the Nodame version of this dinner scene heartbreaking in all the right ways... even as she's stuffing her face with crab legs. So I kind of regret cutting that side plot, but there are plenty of other ways to angst! (Don't worry, we'll have a nice, fluffy ending to this fic. It'll just be a slightly bumpy ride getting there.)


	24. Practice

In the cafe, on Monday morning.

"Iwaizumi, you're doing what?!" says Sugawara. A bit of coffee spills out of his cup when he sets it down a little too quickly.

Mina, with a serious expression, faces Iwaizumi. "Did you know... that you have to look at the music to play a competition?"

"Mina..." Sunakawa mutters. "You do know there's more to a competition than just that, right?"

"Shush!"

"No, yeah, she's right. Gotta take this seriously," Iwaizumi says. 

Everyone stares at each other for a moment. Then, they all start talking to him at once.

Hanamaki high-fives him. "Welcome to the competition club! So what are you gonna play for the first round?"  
"You're staying at their house?" Sunakawa asks.   
"Is it okay, leaving your apartment empty every weekend?" Sugawara adds, concerned.   
"What's Ukai-sensei like at home?" Mina wonders. "Is he really that scary?"

Oikawa clears his throat.

Hanamaki starts listing composers. "Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, somebody French, Chopin... wait, Liszt is way cooler than Chopin. Right, man?"  
Sunakawa gives Iwaizumi a sympathetic look. "Sounds rough, giving up your weekends like that."  
Sugawara frowns at the stack of notebooks and textbooks next to Iwaizumi. "Will you be okay with your classes and homework?"  
Mina claps her hands. "Ooh, do they have a dog? I love dogs!" she exclaims.

Oikawa tries again. " _A-hem_."

Hanamaki hands him a cough drop.

"Late Beethoven would be the best," Hanamaki says.  
"Are you going back there this weekend?" Sunakawa asks.  
"Make sure you take lots of breaks. Don't want you getting hurt," says Sugawara.  
After a short monologue on men's formalwear, Mina chants, "Wear a tux! Wear a tux!"

Oikawa stands up and pushes his chair back with a loud _screeeech._ He slaps both of his palms on the table and glares at everyone. 

_"Iwa-chan and I are together!"_

Everybody stops.

"Oikawa, we know you love being the center of attention," Sugawara chides, with a long sigh and a slow headshake, "but that's going a little too far."

Mina smacks Oikawa on the shoulder, hard. "Think of Iwaizumi-san's feelings!"

"Hey!" Oikawa scowls. He looks at Sunakawa. "Isn't this where you pull up your hood and tell Mina-chan to behave?"

Sunakawa shrugs. "I have nothing to say."

Oikawa throws his hands up. "Damn it, you guys are _the—_ "

"Uh," Iwaizumi says, "We kinda are."

Everyone freezes. They all look back and forth at each other. 

...

...

...

Mina pulls Sugawara aside, and they have a whispered conversation no one else can hear. Then, with bright smiles and cheery nods, they pat Iwaizumi on the back. 

"You're finally accompanying Oikawa!" Sugawara announces.  
"Yay!" Mina cheers.  
"Oh. They're _playing_ together. Gotcha," says Hanamaki.   
"Good for you, Iwaizumi-san," Sunakawa murmurs. "Yachi-san should have some good tips for you."

Oikawa frowns. "No, Iwa-chan's not  _accompanying_ me, you dorks. Where'd you get that idea?"

"Oh-ho, you're not fooling us twice, no sir," says Mina. "We're very happy that you're finally musically together."

"But we're  _together_ together!" Oikawa squawks.

"Cool," says Hanamaki. "Well, gotta go. Invite me to your first recital!"  
"And I'm gonna go practice," Mina says. "I'll talk to Yacchan for you, okay, Iwaizumi-senpai?" She heads off towards the practice rooms, with Sunakawa in tow.   
Sugawara, also on his way out, claps Iwaizumi on the back once more. "Don't overexert yourself, Iwaizumi, you already have a lot of music to work on." 

With the four of them gone, Oikawa and Iwaizumi sit alone in the cafe. 

"What just happened?" Iwaizumi asks. 

Oikawa shakes his head. "Our friends are idiots."

 

* * *

 

The next day.

Iwaizumi prepares the practice room for his first marathon practice session: there's a full bottle of water and some snacks in his backpack off to the side; a metronome, sheet music, and pencil on the piano; an Oikawa, sitting in the floor against the far walland—

"Wait a minute, wait. What are _you_ doing here?" Iwaizumi asks, already irritated at the smirk on Oikawa's face. 

"What, I can't listen to you practice?" 

"Go away," Iwaizumi insists. "Practice your own music."

Oikawa pouts. "Why can't I stay here? You listen to me practice all the time." His faux-innocent tone makes a vein or two bulge on Iwaizumi's temple.

"Be _cause,_ " Iwaizumi says. "Just go."

Oikawa sticks his tongue out. "Don't wanna. Give me one good reason why I should."

"Do I really need to say it?" Iwaizumi asks. He stalks over to where Oikawa is sitting, takes his arms, and hauls him to his feet. 

Though Iwaizumi is the shorter of the pair, the way he looks up at Oikawa—eyes narrowed, chin jutting out, a _challenge_ —makes Oikawa gulp. 

Iwaizumi sighs. "Because you're distracting, damn it. Especially now that I can do _this._ "

Before Oikawa can react, Iwaizumi presses their lips together. 

There's no holding back. He crowds into Oikawa's space during the kiss, only letting up ever so slightly to let Oikawa angle his face in just the right way. 

"Mmffffph," says Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi pulls away for a moment. "Got a problem with that?" he says gruffly.

Oikawa laughs and tugs Iwaizumi closer to continue their kiss.

 _Bam-bam-bam!_  The two of them dimly register the sound of a fist banging against the door.

 _"Oi!"_ Ukai stands in the now-open doorway, frown lines deeply etched into his face. "The _hell_ are you two doing?"

Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa off of him and jumps back so far that he crashes into the piano bench. He turns red and looks away from the intruder, while Oikawa simply straightens himself up and brushes his shoulders off. 

The teacher growls, "Stop distracting my student, kid."

"I'm not in your studio anymore, you can't tell me what to do!" Oikawa says, petulant.

"Fine. Knucklehead, other side of the building. Plenty of practice rooms over there."

Iwaizumi still can't look at anybody. "... Yes, sir," he mumbles.

"Hey!" Oikawa huffs, but Ukai is already gone.

After the professor leaves, Iwaizumi gathers his things and catches Oikawa for one last kiss. Before long, the kiss deepens. He puts his backpack down and wraps his arms around—

Oikawa pulls back and smiles. "Hate to say it, but maybe you and the old man have the right idea."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of pre-competition silliness.


	25. Competition

It's February 14, Valentine's Day, but the halls of Momogaoka Conservatory are almost silent. There are no chocolates exchanged, no bouquets of flowers, no students planning romantic evenings. For the orchestra is away on tour, the music ed students are attending a conference, and practically everyone else is packed into Towa Hall to watch Oikawa Tooru in the MiyakiCon finals.

All except Ukai Ikkei and the members of his studio, who are waiting at the Maradona venue for Iwaizumi to play in the competition's preliminary round.

And except Oikawa and Iwaizumi themselves, who are still at school getting ready for their competitions.

Iwaizumi picks a piece of lint off Oikawa's shoulder. "Can't believe my thing and your thing are at the same time," he says. "Shit timing. Sorry for missing yours."

Oikawa finishes tying Iwaizumi's tie and stands back to check his handiwork. "Same," he replies. "But I'm the better boyfriend."

Iwaizumi almost chokes on the sip of water he just took. "Wait, say _what_ now?"

But instead of answering, Oikawa grabs his belongings and strolls towards the front doors. He waves his hand without turning back. "Because unlike you," he says, " _I'll_ be there to watch you win at _your_ finals next week. Bye-bye, Iwa-chan~"

 

* * *

 

Since the night of Yachi's recital, the woman's words have been at the forefront of Iwaizumi's mind.

 _Face the music head-on. Confront it._  
_Struggle with it; understand it—make it your own._  
_Stand on that stage as a real pianist._

And so, after weeks of practice under Ukai's watchful eye, the notes on the page aren't strangers anymore. Iwaizumi knows each one, how loud they sing, how far they fall.

_Maybe. Maybe I can really do this._

* * *

 

Unlike the other competitors in their tailored tuxes and gowns, Iwaizumi wears a plain white shirt, a forest-green tie, and an simple brown suit that belongs to his father. His shoes are the same pair he wears when he works at the elementary schools. 

Backstage, the others brag about past competitions, or argue over what famous pianist plays the best Beethoven sonata number whatever, or talk about music theory. For fun.

(Even someone with nerves of steel would feel self-conscious in this unfamiliar world.)

"Number four? Competitor number four?" says the stage manager.

Iwaizumi clears his throat and raises his hand. 

"You're up. Break a leg."

On stage, the lights are a little too bright, a little too hot, and—now that he plays according to every instruction and every note on the sheet music—not having a safety net in front of him right now is unsettling.

He takes a seat at the piano and adjusts the height of his bench.  _Nope, too low. Damn, too high now. My legs feel weird. Half a turn this way—_

But the audience is waiting, the judges are tapping their pens on their clipboards impatiently, and it's time to begin.

First, Schubert's piano sonata in A minor:[1]

Two hands begin in unison, playing a soft, subdued, almost meditative first theme. The soft, haunting, yet gentle quality of the sound captures the audience's curiosity.

"Who is he?"  
"The sound... He doesn't look like the type, you know?"  
"What a beautiful Schubert."  
"Anyone know who this guy is?"

—are the whispers floating through the small auditorium.

 

* * *

 

Seated at the judges' table is a teaching assistant from the Paris Conservatory. Back in Paris, the assistant had been thrilled when his professor suddenly decided to take him to Japan for a competition judging tour—especially because said professor had all but retired. However, the assistant's excitement gradually turned into disappointment when he watched (and often heard) the professor sleep (and often snore) through every competition he's judged for the past three weeks.

This time, the assistant is _done_ with his professor's behavior.

_This is something worth hearing._

<Please wake up, Professor Auclair,> the assistant says, taking hold of his professor's arm and shaking him. <Finally, there is a wonderful player!>

But the professor is already awake, hands folded, eyes glued to the stage.

...

As the music nears its end, it morphs into something powerful and insistent, something that threatens to overwhelm the pianist—who pushes back at the music with his own intensity until two chords bring the piece to a dramatic, yet perfectly balanced finish.

"That's..." another judge trails off, stunned. "That's the same piano the player before used, right?"

"Yes," a third judge murmurs. "But this sound is completely different. Colorful. Expressive. A breathtaking performance."

 

* * *

 

The Schubert is over. Iwaizumi stands in a daze, almost knocking his piano bench over, and takes a bow. There is utter silence in the hall.

 _Oh well,_ he thinks. _I figured as much._

(And then.)

He straightens up. The stage lights above him are too bright for him to see the audience, but he could _hear_. Hear them clap and cheer and call out his number in the biggest round of applause yet in this competition.

Only then does he realize something important, something that would change _everything_ :

 _They're clapping for_ me.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks ago.

_He hasn't had enough time, Ukai thought. I took a chance, picked pieces that can show off his technique... but they're tough._

_Meanwhile, Iwaizumi studied the list of music for the competition. "Yeah, this is a lot of music, huh," he said. "But I learned this Chopin when I was little, too." Without waiting for a response, he launched into the piece. [2]_

_Under his fingers, eerie harmonies conjured nightmarish flashes of hurt and frustration. Of being trapped and wanting to escape. Ukai was rendered speechless during the performance, this etude played with incredible speed, flawless accuracy, and hopeless passion._

_He's a_ good _player, but there's more, Ukai thought. Something about him that moves people. Something that makes_  that  _kid cook up a five course meal._

But here at the Maradona, Iwaizumi gives a slightly... different... performance.

Note by note by note, he plods through the Chopin. This performance doesn't call upon the ghastly will-o'-wisps that lead listeners into a deep bog of dark emotions. It's the wagon that gets stuck in the mud before it gets anywhere near wherever it's going.

One judge frowns and writes a few notes on her score sheet. "What a perfunctory Chopin," she says, under her breath. 

"Well, 10-4 is a rather difficult etude..." Another judge replies. 

"Yes, but is he even trying? I don't believe it. Is this the same person who played the Schubert?!" The first judge exclaims, a little too loudly. But it doesn't matter much, as the rest of the recital hall is full of confused whispers asking the exact same thing.

Professor Auclair slumps forward, pressing his forehead against the table. <I don't understand him,> he complains, without lifting his head. <Two pieces isn't enough! I want to hear more!> He pulls out his phone and tosses it to his assistant. <I don't know how to type in Japanese. Look him up for me.>

<Professor!> his assistant hisses, fumbling to catch the phone.

<I need to know more about him! I don't want to wait until the finals,> Auclair huffs. <Wake me up when it's time to go.> And then the professor promptly falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

In the lobby after all the performances, musicians and audience alike wait impatiently for the results.

"The following competitors advance to the finals," a voice announces over a loudspeaker. 

"Number one... number three... number four... number seventeen..."

Iwaizumi stares at Ukai. "Holy shit, I'm number four," he says.

With a wide grin, Ukai holds out his hand and shakes Iwaizumi's.

... With his other hand, he rolls up his program and _whap!_ smacks Iwaizumi on his shoulder.

"Oi, Knucklehead, what the hell was that Chopin?"

Iwaizumi scratches his head. "I remembered something bad that happened, I think?"

"Don't remember junk like that!"

"My bad."

"Well..." Ukai sighs. "Good work making it through. You might actually have a chance against Ushijima."

"Who?"

"Ushiwaka, they call him." Ukai opens his program to the first page, to competitor number one—a stern-looking young man with a hard expression. "Another fourth-year. The favorite to win this competition."

"Ushi... Waka..." Iwaizumi mumbles to himself. "Hm. Waka..."

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa calls across the lobby. He dashes through the crowd, turning heads as people start to recognize him. He runs right into Iwaizumi, who catches him around the waist.

"What's your number? Did you pass?" Oikawa asks eagerly.

"Number four," Iwaizumi grins, pointing to the display board where the results are now posted. "Goin' to the finals. What about you? Did you win?"

Oikawa swings a blue-ribboned gold medal in front of Iwaizumi like a pendulum. "You're getting sleepy... very sleepy... and when you wake up you'll buy me dinner and tell me I'm your favorite person in the world..."

Iwaizumi snorts and smushes the medal into Oikawa's face. "Like hell I'm doing that! But let's go eat, I'm starving."

"Hajime?"

Iwaizumi lets go of Oikawa and turns around. There's a man and woman halfway across the lobby, waving to him. 

Iwaizumi's eyes grow wide. "Wh—Ma? Dad? Wh, what are you doing here?"

 

* * *

 

Oikawa leans over to whisper in Iwaizumi's ear. "I'll leave you guys alone," he says, and kisses him on the temple. "See you soon?"

"No, come on. Come meet them."

The gears in Oikawa's mind grind to a halt.

_"Come meet them."_

_Meeting Iwa-chan's parents...?!_

"Whatwait, really? You sure?"

"Yeah, c'mon." He takes Oikawa's hand and heads over to his parents.

"Wow, you guys," Iwaizumi says, grinning. "I can't believe you came all the way out here. On a weeknight, too."

"Well, we had to see one of your lil' concerts at some point, know that we're gettin' our money's worth! Hah!" his father bellows. 

Oikawa frowns _. Um..._

"Ha, ha, yeah..." Iwaizumi trails off, then pauses a moment before he says, "Listen, I want you to meet someone. This is—"

Oikawa straightens his bow tie, smiles his literally-award-winning smile, and holds out his hand.

Iwaizumi's father clears his throat and looks away.

Iwaizumi's mother fusses with Iwaizumi's hair.

"Would it kill ya to brush your hair once in a while, Hajime?" she asks, trying to smooth her son's hair down.

"Ma, hey—"

"An' look at this tie! Goodness gracious. I'll send ya one of your father's.

Oikawa's and Iwaizumi's eyes meet for one fleeting second before Iwaizumi looks away. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Ma."

Oikawa withdraws his hand. What he'd dreaded since he first kissed a boy in sixth grade; the whole reason why his relationship with Akaashi had to stay under lock and key... is here. In the form of Iwaizumi's parents. 

And so he walks away from this scene he's no longer a part of.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Piano Sonata in A minor, D. 845](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0G0lr9yUgJI) (Franz Schubert) [return to text]
> 
> 2 [Etude Op. 10, No. 4 in C# minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_qedjLpjNI) (Frédéric Chopin) [return to text]


	26. The silence between movements

A first-place finish at an international piano competition. Endless messages from Elise about interviews, concert bookings, even job offers. An email from Takeda saying recommendation letters from Ukai and Nekomata have been submitted to the fellowship committee. An almost guaranteed pass on the fellowship exam. 

_It's everything I ever wanted._

_Except one of the most important people... can I be in his life? Can he be in mine?_

_(And what about her?)_

_(No, she's not, she can't ever be, she doesn't matter._ _)_

Oikawa types and deletes the words "hey Iwa-chan" over and over in his phone's messaging app, wanting (dreading) a conversation about last night, about his parents, _about us_. 

 _But 'us'_ _can wait_ , he decides.  _Iwa-chan's finally taking piano seriously. For now, all I can do is watch._

 

* * *

 

While Iwaizumi plays Bach for Ukai during their lesson the next day, the teacher thinks out loud. "It's not wrong... But what's wrong with this Bach?"

The notes were correct. The tempo was good. But there was something about the interpretation that seemed off to Ukai. It felt too light, too easy, too young and innocent. He thinks of sunshine—

_Ah. He's playing like Pipsqueak._

"No, no," Ukai says. "Give it more weight. More _bam_. This is one of Bach's greatest fugues."

Iwaizumi looks at him blankly.

Ukai tries again. "Get that sound out of your head. Listen to the composer, not your memory, got it?"

Iwaizumi frowns at the music. 

In the end, Ukai can only sigh and say, "I have to get to school. Think about what I said."

 

* * *

 

With the Bach looping endlessly under his fingers, Iwaizumi studies the music.

"Rhythm's wrong," he murmurs to himself as he plays. "That wasn't loud enough. Oh. The left hand is more important there."

He listens to every single note and every single pause but doesn't hear the "Iwaizumi-kun, it's time for lunch" coming from somewhere far, far away. Or maybe the voice said "dinner." He's not really sure. There is only Bach, today.

 

* * *

 

As Ukai rides the train home that night, all he can think about is his student.

 _I never expected him to have a problem with Bach,_ he thinks. _Our lesson will probably last 'til midnight tonight, and he has two other pieces to learn in less than a week. Do we have enough time?_

 _We haven't had enough time since the very beginning,_ the man concludes. 

When he gets home, he finds his wife pacing back and forth and wringing her hands.

"He won't eat or rest. He's been locked in there for hours just playing and mumbling to himself," she says, biting her lip and shaking her head.

Ukai stomps into the music room. "What'd I say about taking breaks, Knuckleh—"

He's met with a Bach that has dignity and poise, color and variety, style and depth...[1]

"He's got it," Ukai says to himself. "In one day. How?"

But then Bach gives way to noise when Iwaizumi falls forward onto the keyboard.

...

"38.8 degrees. Can't believe I never noticed," Ukai grumbles. "He's not a complainer, but I should've picked up on something."

His wife changes the cold towel on Iwaizumi's forehead. "Don't blame yourself. I should've made sure he was eating and sleeping, too. Now get some good rest," she says to Iwaizumi. "Don't worry about anything else."

"Be fine tomorrow," Iwaizumi mumbles.

"No," Ukai says sternly. "You're overworked, and you need rest. Lots of it. I'm taking you out of the competition. There's always next year; you don't have to be a conservatory student to compete."

Iwaizumi tries to sit up but falls back with a soft groan. "Isn't," he argues in a weak voice. "'s no 'next year'. Now."

Ukai shakes his head. "You got some good experience this year. Next year, you can aim for the top."

"'m aiming for the top. Right now."

"What? You expected to win your first year? Not how it works, Knucklehead. Especially not when you're like this."

Suddenly, there's fire in Iwaizumi's eyes—and it's not from the fever. "Why would I enter a competition just to lose?"

Teacher and student stare at each other.

Finally, Ukai gives. "... I'll let you stay in the competition if you're fit to play in two days. Deal?"

"Be fine tomorrow."

"You really are a knucklehead, you know that?"

Iwaizumi laughs a little and drifts off into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

...

...

...

"But it sounds nicer like this," Hajime explains.

The teacher rolls up the book of etudes he's holding. "Why can't you just play. The. Right. Notes!" he roars.

_Smack!_

A combination of the slap to his face and pure surprise knocks Hajime off the piano bench. His head hits the ground hard, and his nose is bleeding.

A boy enters the room and looms above him. He doesn't smile, doesn't ever smile.

"Weak," the boy says. "This is what happens when you don't work hard, Hajime-kun."

...

With a gasp, Iwaizumi sits upright in bed. The towel falls off his forehead with a wet _plap_.

He remembers, now. The boy from that Shiratorizawa Academy elementary summer music camp all those years ago. The one who competed non-stop and won every time. The pride and joy of Washijou-sensei's studio.

Competitor number one at Maradona this year.

"... Wakatoshi-kun."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Prelude and Fugue No.16 in G minor, BWV 885](https://youtu.be/_N1JFXScmYw?t=270) (Johann Sebastian Bach) [return to text]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Holy wow I've officially written over 200k words of Haikyuu fanfiction?! Hopefully I can keep this up ~~because season four ain't happenin' any time soon~~.
> 
> Next up: Maradona finals. ~~Going for a nice long chapter~~~


	27. Petrushka

In the hallway just outside the green room, Iwaizumi sits alone with sheet music open on his lap. His body is tense as he taps his fingers in frenzied time with the notes he's reading. He doesn't notice the persistent buzzing from the overhead florescent lights or the large shadow now looming over him until a voice says,

"'Petrushka.' Hm. I'm playing the same piece."

Iwaizumi looks up and frowns at the man before him. Tall, broad-shouldered, expression made of stone.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi."

"Hajime-kun," Ushijima replies. "... I suppose it's _Iwaizumi_ , now. I'm surprised you're still playing piano, let alone a competition.

Iwaizumi says nothing.

"By the way, Washijou-sensei is here, watching. Thought you'd want to know."

As Ushijima walks away, Iwaizumi lets his head fall back against the wall and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa hums and looks at his ticket. _Maradona Competition: Final Selection, row I, seat 17._

_I wonder who got Iwa-chan's other ticket. Yachi?_

As he pauses in the aisle, he makes eye contact with seat I-16.

_Oh, great._

With a grimace and an audible sigh, Oikawa shuffles down the row and takes his seat next to Ukai.

The two men sit in silence until Oikawa can't stand the awkwardness anymore. "Rest of the studio here?" he asks.

"Yep." Ukai thrusts a thumb towards the back of the auditorium. "Cheap seats. Yours?"

"Same, but only a few of us are here." Oikawa holds up four fingers. "The music ed students are busy teaching."

"Hmph."

After a long pause, Oikawa adds, "Thanks. Tor the recommendation letter."

"... You did good work with Pipsqueak, on your Beethoven and her recital."

"Yeah, uh... okay."

"..."

"But about Iwa-chan..."

"Who?"

"Iwaizumi. For the record, I still don't think making Iwa-chan compete was a good idea."

Ukai gives Oikawa a long, level look. "Who said anything about 'making'?"

"Every student you've ever had, including me," scoffs Oikawa. "I mean, maybe he got bored with Take-chan. Why else would he go to your studio? But he has literally zero reason to join a competition. He just can't say no to teachers."

Ukai rolls his eyes. "Take-ch... You and your nicknames. You talk to that knucklehead lately?"

"No, I thought I'd leave him alone during boot camp... wait, why do you ask?" 

"... it's none of my business. Now be quiet. They're starting."

 

* * *

 

When it's Iwaizumi's turn on stage, Oikawa takes a closer look at the program.

> Prelude & Fugue no. 16 in G minor, BWV 885[1]  
>  J. S. Bach
> 
> L'Isle Joyeuse[2]  
>  C. Debussy
> 
> Three movements from Petrushka[3]  
>  I. Stravinsky

_The old man made some good choices,_  he thinks. _Three totally different styles, time periods, techniques. But this kind of music... I doubt Iwa-chan's played these before. It's nothing like what he was playing with Take-chan... Did he seriously learn five brand new pieces for this competition in just as many weeks?!_

Applause jolts Oikawa out of his thoughts. The Bach has just ended.

"They're not supposed to clap," Oikawa says in wonder. He turns left and right and looks at the smiling faces all around him. "Iwa-chan still has two more pieces to go."

Ukai crosses his arms and nods in satisfaction.

...

To Oikawa, the second piece is uncharted territory. He's never heard Iwaizumi play like this before—it's a bold and exuberant display of wonder and joy that delights listeners to no end; the most open and honest playing he's ever heard. 

_This. This is what Iwa-chan can do. Amazing._

As the final notes of the Debussy dissipate into the air, Ukai says, under his breath, "It was a good, solid performance. Now, take a bow and walk off stage."

Oikawa is startled by the suggestion. "What? Why would he do that?" he asks. "He has one more."

"I didn't have time to teach him the third piece," Ukai explains. "We listened to it a few times, and he studied the sheet music some, but that's all we got."

Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi and shakes his head no.

_You're not done yet, are you, Iwa-chan._

...

The final piece: Petrushka.

Iwaizumi's piano transports the audience to a busy carnival in St. Petersburg. A song from a magician's pipe brings three puppets to life, and they start dancing along with the festivities. The sights and sounds surrounding the puppets' dance are colorful, vibrant, and nothing short of marvelous. There are merry revelers drinking heartily and singing old folk tunes. Children playing on a carousel, accompanied by a organ-grinder and his monkey. A dancing bear lumbering around on its hind legs making the crowd gasp and clap and laugh. In the distance, a ferris wheel ta

 

 

 

 

Oikawa's breath catches in his throat.

Iwaizumi is frozen in place, with his hands hovering just above the keys—a perfect photograph of a moment of silence.

_He stopped playing!!_

 

(In the hall, nobody dares to breathe.)

 

 

Iwaizumi then presses his lips together in a thin line, and he looks really, really mad.

Oikawa starts to panic _. No, wait a minute. No, no, I know that look. He's about to—_

The puppets don slick black tophats and dance to something that sounds like a 1920s Broadway show tune. The dancing bear returns with a pair of sunglasses and some lounge jazz, and gypsies dazzle the audience with a military march.

"Is... this... still Petrushka?" somebody behind Oikawa asks.  
"What... kind of image are we supposed to see?" another says.

Oikawa groans. _Iwa-chan's making it up as he goes!_

A flurry of snowflake-like notes rushes across the stage, clearing the way for the puppets to return to their dance at the carnival.

_He's back. But he's disqualified, for sure._

The rest of the piece depicts the rest of the puppets' tale. In the story, the clown puppet Petrushka is thrown into a hut, like a jail cell. He's trapped, but he's happy when he thinks about the beautiful ballerina he longs for. In the end, Petrushka breaks out and tries to prove himself worthy of her. But he meets an abrupt and miserable end as a puppet unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy.

(And the performance is over.)

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi stands and leaves the stage.

He rushes to the green room and removes his jacket, tie, and dress shirt. These, along with the rest of his belongings, are shoved unceremoniously into a duffel bag that he slings over one shoulder. With that, he leaves the concert hall without looking back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Prelude and Fugue No.16 in G minor, BWV 885](https://youtu.be/_N1JFXScmYw?t=270) (Johann Sebastian Bach) [return to text]
> 
> 2 [L'Isle Joyeuse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rlGFfjY_vrY) (Claude Debussy) [return to text]
> 
> 3 [Three Movements from Petrushka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DD77HzhRB4) (Igor Stravinsky) [return to text]


	28. Schubert

Hanamaki makes his way through the crowd in Oikawa's living room and goes into the kitchen. He grabs two ice-cold beers and heads towards someone standing in the corner; that someone is currently facing the wall and typing on his phone. With a grin, Hanamaki presses the beer against his neck.

"AHH!" Oikawa shrieks and jumps. He whips around to scowl at Hanamaki.

"That's the first thing you've said all night," Hanamaki says. "We can't have a party for Oikawa without Oikawa, man. You gotta let it go."

"I did! I am! I don't even care anymore," Oikawa insists.

"Then why are you checking your phone _right now_ dude, come on, I'm standing right here." Hanamaki plucks the phone out of Oikawa's hand and turns it off.

"Look, I know it sucks that Iwaizumi didn't show up. But he's probably dealing with, you know, stuff. Haven't you ever bombed a competition or audition or something?"

"No," Oikawa replies. He makes a few feeble attempts at snatching his phone away from Hanamaki.

Hanamaki sighs. "Forgot who I was talking to."

"He should at least answer ONE email. Or message. Or phone call. It's been forty-six hours and seventeen minutes since I last saw him," says Oikawa.

Hanamaki sighs. "Forgot who I was talking to. Anyway, they're waiting for you out there. We can talk about this later."

Oikawa runs his hand through his hair. He hands Hanamaki his unopened beer and silently heads towards the living room where most of the party is taking place. On his way, Hanamaki pats him on his back.

When Oikawa exits the kitchen, he hears glass clinking to get everyone's attention.

"Speech!" a voice calls out. A few other voices join him, and soon all eyes are on Oikawa.

Oikawa reaches into his pocket to check his phone one last time and realizes it isn't there. He shakes his head and wants to laugh at himself.

"Thanks for coming, everybody," he begins. "As most of you know, this fellowship has been my goal since..."

 

* * *

 

Freezing temperatures and howling winds means that most people in this rural Miyagi town are staying inside, warm and cozy under their kotatsus. The Iwaizumi family is no exception.

"Here you go, Hajime," the eldest member of the family—an eighty-six year old grandma—says. She hands Iwaizumi an envelope, which a teenaged girl promptly takes away. She opens the envelope and makes a face.

"Why does Onii-chan get more than me?" she complains, re-counting the money in her own envelope. "Isn't he too old to get new year's money? And why are we celebrating new year's now? It's almost spring!"

"It's fine, it's fine," Grandma says. "Hajime wasn't home for the new year, but we're all together now. Isn't that nice, Sumire-chan?"

The girl _hmph_ s.

"Didn't see you complainin' when ya got your own money," the father of the family says.

"Speakin' of money," his wife pipes up. "What're you doin' after graduation, Hajime?"

"Being a bum, that's what," Sumire says. "He didn't even finish his teacher training because of that stupid competition."

This earns her a sharp but fleeting look from her brother. He doesn't say anything.

She seems to take his silence as a sign to continue.

"We all know that Onii-chan is our bad debt. I still don't understand why you spent so much money just to send him to a fancy music school." She turns to her brother and says, "Just give it up already and work with Dad."

"Great idea!" Dad says.

"But music is all Hajime knows how to do!" Mom protests. "And what's this 'bout not finishin' your teacher business?" she asks. "You _know_ this is your only chance at a steady job. How're you gonna get married if y'don't have a nice job? And you'll have your fancy degree, that'll impress 'em—"  
  
Dad shakes his head. "You've had your fun, Hajime. Now come home an' work for the family."

"We paid so much money to—"  
"Who else is gonna run the business—"  
"Now, now, settle—"  
"Ugh, who cares anymore?"

everyone says at once.

"Thanks for the meal," the target of all of their bickering says softly. He leaves the room.

The rest of the family looks at each other.

"Turn up the TV," Dad says. "My show is on."

 

* * *

 

Hours turn into days as Iwaizumi lies in his room and plays video games, or watches TV, or simply looks out the window. He shuffles out of his room for meals and chores, then shuffles back into his futon when he's done.

On the fourth day, a single "C" from the piano can be heard throughout the house.

 _They kept it tuned_ , Iwaizumi thinks, letting his finger slide off the key.

He sits at the piano, closes his eyes, and plays the Schubert.

 

* * *

 

Three women standing outside the Iwaizumi home discussing this week's sales look up at an open window. The notes of the Schubert dance and swirl over their heads before dissipating into the air.

"Oh, Iwaizumi-san, you didn't tell us Hajime was home," says one woman.

The three of them forget what they were talking about and listen to the music.

...

Sumire slowly opens the door to her room, just enough to... let the air circulate. Yeah, that's it. Not because she wanted to listen to her brother play or anything.

"Finally back to normal," she says to herself, with a secret grin.

 

* * *

 

After the piece ends, Iwaizumi's eyes are still closed when he hears someone clapping their hands.

"How wonderful," Grandma says, standing in the open doorway. "What song is it?"

"Um, it's by Schubert," Iwaizumi replies. "I played it for the competition."

"A competition!" Grandma pauses, then says, "Like a contest? A fight?"

Iwaizumi laughs a little. "Not a fight. You play on a stage in front of a ton of people, and there are judges who decide how good you are. They give prizes if you win first or second place."

"Was it fun?" Grandma asks.

The simple question catches Iwaizumi off guard. At first, there's nothing.

_And then, suddenly, he stands in a daze, almost knocking his piano bench over, and takes a bow. There is utter silence in the concert hall._

_(And then.)_

_He straightens up. The stage lights above him are too bright for him to see the audience, but he could hear. Hear them clap and cheer and call out his number in the biggest round of applause yet in this competition._

_They're clapping for me._

He thinks of late nights at the piano, of hours spent poring over sheet music, of lessons with Ukai. Of homemade dinners, stolen kisses in practice rooms, and Oikawa. Always, always Oikawa.

"Yeah, yeah it was."

 

* * *

 

126 messages, 72 emails, and 26 voicemails.

This is what Iwaizumi is faced with when he finally cleans his room and finds his phone charger.

The most recent messages are all some variation of "PICK UP YOUR PHONE, DAMN IT," so he skips over those for now. Most are from Oikawa, but Ukai sent him a good number of messages, too.

He stops scrolling through his phone when he finds an email with the subject line, "Latest News from Men's National Volleyball Team," and taps on that first.

The email reads:

> It's Ukai, you knucklehead.
> 
> Don't know where you are or what you're doing, so I'll keep this short: one of the judges from Maradona wants you to audition for the Paris Conservatory.
> 
> Call me when you get this.
> 
> Ukai Ikkei
> 
> Ukai Ikkei, Chair & Instructor, Piano Division  
>  Momogaoka Conservatory of Music

There's a PDF attachment of what seems to be a letter signed by someone named Charles Auclair. But the text is in French, which means...

...

The door opens after two knocks.

"What do you want?" Sumire asks. "Unlike some people, I have homework and good grades to keep up. So make it quick."

"Need your skills," Iwaizumi says. "Can you read this?"

He hands her his phone, which she takes with a suspicious look. With brows furrowed, she reads silently to herself. As she reads, her eyes widen and she clutches the phone tightly.

It takes her a while, and more than a few dictionary checks, but she makes it through the entire letter.

"Is this a joke?" she asks.

Iwaizumi looks taken aback. "No, that's from my teacher. I mean, not the letter. The email it came in. So it's legit."

She looks at her brother, then his phone, then back at her brother.

And then she starts laughing hysterically.

"Oh my God," she says, shoving Iwaizumi lightly. "You're going to Paris!"

"No, someone from Paris wants me to audition."

"Okay, yeah, you have to audition, but the school will cover moving expenses, and then there's some kind of stipend too. Plus, they have housing for international students. They're practically throwing money at you for you to study there. You have to win that audition!"

"..."

"I... don't really get music stuff, to be honest," Sumire says, almost shyly. "But you're good, right? If you got into Momogaoka, doesn't that mean you can get into this Paris school too?"

"..."

"Okay, now you're being weird." Sumire knocks on her brother's head. "Hello? Anyone in there?"

"I can't go," Iwaizumi says softly.

"WHAT?" Sumire screeches. "You can't go? You haven't even auditioned yet!"

"Doesn't matter. Can't go."

"Why?"

Iwaizumi's voice rises to a growl. "If I can't even make it through one competition, what kind of pianist am I?" He hits the wall with a fist.

His sister winces, but she recovers quickly. "There was something about a competition in here," she says. "He says that no one won first place. What does that mean?"

"... nothing."

"Okay, whatever. But you have to at least audition! I don't understand why—"

"Hajime!" their mother calls out. "Someone's here to see ya."

"Wait, Onii-chan—"

Iwaizumi walks away.

...

In the living room stands a woman in maybe her late 30s or early 40s, with sleek auburn hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and an outfit that screams luxury: impeccably tailored wool coat, black leather gloves, and designer shoes that probably cost more than what most people make in a day.

Iwaizumi's father is serving tea with a set he's never seen before, while his mother fawns over their guest with sweet smiles and low bows.

His jaw drops open.

"Y-you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two words: writer's block.
> 
> Sumire means violet, which in flower language means honesty.


End file.
